To be a King once more
by Maugan Ra
Summary: AU - What if, after the Winter War, it is not the Soul Reapers that restore Ichigo's powers, but Ichimaru and the surviving Espada?
1. Prologue

Kurosaki Ichigo had always supposed that when he eventually died, it would be in battle. When he was feeling positive, he'd find himself picturing some sort of glorious last stand, giving his life in the defence of some ill-defined yet undoubtedly deserving innocents behind him. On his more melancholy days, he concluded that it would probably end with him face down in the dirt, choking on his own blood, like so many other would-be heroes. It wasn't that either option was something he particularly desired – he didn't have a death wish or anything – but the cynical side of him had always believed that it was somewhat inevitable anyway.

As it turned out, he was partially right. His death was swift and violent, but only the most perverse individuals could ever have identified it as a battle. One moment, he was walking through the streets of Karakura town, ignoring the early chill of winter in the air as best he could. The next, there was a blur of motion, the sensation of something shockingly cold biting into his neck, and suddenly he found himself looking down at his own corpse. Something thin and razor sharp had apparently torn out his entire throat and, indeed, most of his chin and upper chest. The blood already forming a pool around the corpse was faintly unreal in its sheer volume… a veritable lake of dark crimson.

Ichigo took a couple of steps backwards, his mouth half-open in uncomprehending shock. The severed chain dangling from his chest jingled slightly as he sat down heavily, unable to properly process the sight in from of him.

"Tch. Did it have to be so messy?" The voice came from behind him, horrifyingly familiar in its casually polite lilt. Slowly, Ichigo raised his head and looked at the speaker, already knowing who he would see. The attire was different, a pale white shirt and dark trousers rather than the pristine robes he remembered, but there was no mistaking that silvery hair, nor the smiling face it framed.

"You… you're dead…"

Gin Ichimaru dropped into a crouch, bringing his still-smiling face level with Ichigo. With slow deliberation he glanced between the stunned spirit in front of him and the bleeding corpse to one side. Then he brought up one hand and held it between them, studying the bloody sword he held in it as though it belonged to someone else entirely.

"What a coincidence." He said, ever so softly, pale blue eyes gleaming. "So are you."


	2. Chapter One  Hueco Mundo

Sand - An endless ocean of it, stretching away to the far horizon, gleaming softly in the ever-present moonlight. That had been his initial impression of Hueco Mundo, all those months ago, and Ichigo was not surprised to find that the place hadn't changed much in the intervening time. The sensation of the soft grains running through his fingers was hauntingly familiar, even as he picked himself up from his undignified fallen position.

He'd tried to fight, of course. It had taken a few moments for the reality of the situation to sink in, but when it had, he'd thrown himself at Ichimaru with murderous intent. Unfortunately, for all his rigorous training and outstanding physical fitness, after that final battle with Aizen he was undeniably mortal. Gin Ichimaru, however, was still every bit the Shinigami captain, and traitor or not, it had been child's play for him to fend off Ichigo's desperate attack. Then he'd seized the teenager by the neck and, still smiling, dragged him back off through the portal to Hueco Mundo. The whole thing had taken less than five seconds.

Having regained his feet, Ichigo turned once more to his kidnapper… to his _murderer_, fire blazing in his brown eyes.

"What the hell is going on?"

For a long moment, he thought Ichimaru wasn't going to answer him. The captain just stood there, on the side of the sand dune, looking out over the desolate wasteland with an unreadable expression on his face. He seemed to be waiting for something, and for a brief moment Ichigo found himself really, truly wishing that his abilities had not been the price he had to pay to end Aizen's threat once and for all. He knew from personal experience just how dangerous this place could be, and that was when he could actually defend himself from attack. Now, though, he found himself here once again, utterly helpless, his only protection a smiling lunatic who had already murdered him.

With an eerie sort of grace, Ichimaru turned to look down at him, that wide smile never quite leaving his face. "I'm paying you back, Ichi-kun." He said, and there was something unspeakably chilling in the way he said it.

"What?" Ichigo blinked, utterly confused. "Why? What did I do to you? I mean, we both know you didn't really like Aizen…" And wasn't that just the understatement of the century, he reflected to himself sourly. He'd watched Gin put a blade through Aizen's heart and reduce most of his torso to bubbling slag without so much as a second's warning, and then he'd watched the resurrected abomination that Aizen became cleave the traitor almost entirely in half with a single blow. It was why he – why everyone in the Soul Society had believed Gin Ichimaru to be dead. Soul Reapers possessed a truly remarkable level of resilience when it came to withstanding physical damage, especially the more powerful ones, but injuries of that level would have killed even a captain in moments.

And yet, here Gin stood, perfectly healthy once again, staring down at him with a knowing smirk on his face. His voice seemed to hold even more of the oh-so-polite drawl than before, if it was even possible. "Ya, and that's the point, Ichi. See, you did what I couldn't – namely, cutting my old Taicho into several dozen tiny pieces. By my count, that means I owe you a favour. This is my way of returning it."

For a few moments, Ichigo said nothing. By his count, there were at least four different responses to that little explanation fighting each other for supremacy in his brain, and until one of them won out he was reduced to just sitting there on the pristine white sands and staring up at the smiling captain. For his part, Ichimaru seemed entirely content to let him think it over, just standing there, watching him, silver hair shining in the moonlight.

"You think you owe me a favour.." Ichigo eventually said, not trusting his voice above a soft whisper. "And _this _is how you repay it?" He didn't have to qualify what exactly he meant by 'this'. A sharp glance at the sword in Ichimaru's hand, now dripping blood onto the cold sands, was more than enough explanation.

"Well…. Yeah."

For the first time, Ichigo considered the very real possibility that the man standing in front of him was insane. It wouldn't be surprising, really – even putting aside the questionable mental stability of anyone who had chosen to side with Aizen in the first place, there was the fact that he had been almost sliced in half by a man that he had every reason to believe dead. Really, Ichimaru snapping at that would be entirely understandable…

"Chill, Ichigo. It's not like the smiling bastard had many other options." The rough voice from behind him was also hauntingly familiar – a relic from days he had thought long gone. That belief was well and truly banished from Ichigo's mind as he turned to regard the new arrival standing behind him. There was no mistaking him, either – indeed, the ex-Soul Reaper was willing to bet that even if he hadn't been able to see the shock of violently blue hair, or the distinctive jawbone attached to the side of his face, he'd have been able to recognise Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez by his stance alone. No one else radiated predatory grace in quite the same way as the violent Espada.

"Grimmjow? What the hell is going on?" Ichigo finally hauled himself to his feet, doing his best to ignore the way that the very air around him felt stifling and claustrophobic. The Arrancar was clearly trying to hold it in, but even so, the sheer force of his spiritual pressure felt absolutely crushing. Ichigo did his best to hide his discomfort, but Grimmjow clearly noticed anyway, glaring at Gin.

"Didn't you tell him, already?" When the Shinigami didn't respond, the Espada's pale blue eyes widened slightly. "You telling me you just up and stabbed him in the street? Without even telling him why? Kami, Gin… we want him on our side, or did you forget?"

Ichigo could feel his head spinning, trying to keep up with the implications in that statement. "You… want me on your side? Grimmjow, I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't have my powers any more. And more than that, now I'm _dead!_" he froze for a moment, the reality of his situation once again hitting him. He was dead. There was no doubt of that, not with what he'd seen the smiling Shinigami do to his body…

"Yeah, and that's what we're gonna fix." Grimmjow said, a trace of irritation in his voice. "Well, not the dead thing, obviously. Your powers, I mean. We brought you here to give them back to you." With one smooth motion, he reached back and drew something from a sheath on his back. At first glance, it looked like a sword, but there was something… off about it. The entire length of the blade seemed to crackle with barely suppressed energy, to the point where it almost hurt to look upon, as thought space itself were twisting slightly just above its razor edge.

"Now, I expect this is probably going to hurt a bit. And I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been dreaming about doing it for the last couple of months now. So just hold still and let's get it over with."

"Grimmjow…" Ichigo never got to finish the sentence. The Espada seemed to vanish for the briefest instant, and then he was in front of Ichigo, the crackling sword in his hand punching forwards. It struck the orange-haired teenager just above the heart, passing straight through his ribcage as though it wasn't even there.

The last thing Ichigo saw was the ferocious, almost manic smile on Gimmjow's face, before the entire world exploded into fire.


	3. Chapter Two  Squad Eleven

The Eleventh Division was not a subtle tool. It was a well known fact among the thirteen Court Guard squads that you only deployed Zaraki's squad when you didn't care all that much about such niceties as 'collateral damage' and 'structural integrity', when all that mattered was that your enemies died as fast as humanly possible. In the eyes of some, this made the Eleventh into little more than chained attack dogs, rabid beasts to be let off the leash only occasionally.

Captain-Commander Yamamoto, however, strongly believed that occasionally, an attack dog was exactly what you needed in order to have the situation resolved. It was perhaps the most important reason as to why he never really curbed the Division's excesses, so long as they did not grow too out of hand – savage barbarian or not, you could not deny that Zaraki knew how to fight, and how to inspire that same competence in his subordinates.

All the same factors that made them perfect attack dogs, however, made the division into perhaps the worst possible option for a protection and escort detail. So it was that when the messenger appeared in the middle of the division offices and announced that they were to be tasked with just such a job, everyone was far too busy staring in shock to properly respond. The messenger in question was entirely happy with this state of affairs, simply leaving the sealed message on the captain's desk and vanishing in a flicker of Shunpo.

"This can't be right." Renji shook his head, quietly grateful that he'd thought to stop by his old division today. He'd only intended to catch up with a few of his old friends, maybe challenge a few of the mid ranked officers to a quick fight to make sure he wasn't getting too rusty, but this was much better. In all his time at the division, he hadn't seen anything render Kenpachi Zaraki so completely speechless. The only unfortunate thing, he lamented silently, was that no one worth telling was ever going to believe him about it.

"Of course it isn't right. Dumb bastard must have dropped the orders off at the wrong place or something." Ikkaku chuckled at the thought, or more specifically at the thought of what the Captain was going to do to the messenger when he eventually managed to track him down. Honestly, he didn't blame the man for fleeing as soon as he'd delivered the message – No one wanted to see Zaraki lose his temper, and being asked to do something as insultingly boring as this could well set him off.

Zaraki himself, however, was totally, eerily calm. He'd never been one to put much stock in the idea of hunches, or gut feelings… but his instincts had never let him down before. And right now, they were telling him that no one had made a mistake. The messenger had been too confident, his wording too precise, and there was certainly no mistaking the address on the front of the message or the Captain-Commander's seal underneath it. He one eye, stale yellow in the interior light, narrowed slightly as he regarded the packet sitting on the desk in front of him, sizing it up as though it was an enemy.

Yachiru, ever-sensitive to his moods, dismounted from her typical position on his shoulder with a quick hop. Before any of the other officers could so much as blink, she had drawn her sword – child-sized, but still wickedly sharp – sliced through the seal, sheathed it again and removed the letter inside from the envelope. Her beady little eyes flickered back and forth across the words in front of her, before she turned and offered it to Kenpachi. She wasn't smiling, and suddenly, neither was anybody else.

888

Less than fifteen minutes later, the gateway over Karakura town opened with a soft rumble, and the Eleventh division deployed. Kenpachi appreciated that the mission only really called for a few Soul Reapers, a dozen at the most, and that he could probably have gotten away with delegating the entire mission to Madarame's command. But for this mission, he couldn't shake the feeling that a more… significant deployment was called for.

Over two thousand Shinigami deployed into the skies above Karakura town, filling the air with the fluttering of robes and the gleam of bared swords, while several thousand more appeared in the surrounding regions in order to set up the perimeter. With ruthless efficiency, they plunged towards their destination like swooping hawks, the massive figure of Captain Zaraki at their centre.

All over Karakura town, lost souls froze in instinctive terror, and among the living the spiritually sensitive were overcome with a sense of impending doom.

888

Kisuke Urahara had been in the process of shutting up shop for the day when he felt the portal open. It would have been all but impossible not to notice it – the sheer density of spiritual energy being dumped into the atmosphere above the town was already affecting the very atmosphere, causing a sudden gale of wind to materialise from nowhere. The shopkeeper paused in his stroll across the front yard, hard blue eyes peering up into the skies from underneath his trademark striped hat.

At his side, a certain black cat looked up at him with a sense of undeniable concern in its golden eyes. Urahara shared a quick glance with it that would have looked utterly absurd to anyone who didn't know both of them, and then they both returned their gazes to the sky once more. Soul Society had not deployed in force like this for centuries – even in the final battles against Aizen, the most critical engagements were handled by small, elite teams of officers rather than swarms of unranked Shinigami. More than that, they could both sense the presence of Kenpachi Zaraki in the middle of it all, lighting up the spiritual world like a mobile star. Anything that would necessitate the Eleventh captain being deployed into the real world was by its very nature a serious concern.

Fortunately, they did not have long to wait before an explanation arrived. Renji Abarai descended from the skies above them, Zabimaru unsheathed and held ready in his tattooed hands, flanked by a full half a dozen lesser Reapers. The Lieutenant landed softly in front of them, greeting the somewhat bewildered shopkeep with a sharp nod and a string of four words that sent chunks of ice down the spine of Kisuke Urahara.

"Ichigo Kurosaki is dead."

888

When the Shinigami arrived at the Kurosaki clinic, they found a captain waiting for them in the street outside. He was unshaven, his uniform had evidently been thrown on in a hurry, and there were a pair of teenage girls standing behind him. He would not have looked in the slightest bit intimidating to the hardened members of Squad Eleven, were it not for the way that he radiated spiritual energy like a wildfire. The first Soul Reaper who tried to approach managed to get within five metres before keeling over unconscious. With a fierce scowl on his face, Isshin drew his sword.

"Where. Is. My. Son?" He demanded of the remainder, his voice like frozen iron.

888

It did not take Kenpachi very long to locate the street where Ichigo Kurosaki had met his end. He stood there, in the middle of the road, looking down at the corpse in front of him with a face like weathered granite. A casual observer would have labelled him as stoic and unfeeling, at least until they saw how the grass around his feet was starting to shrivel and burn from his mere presence. None of the unseated Shinigami could even approach closer than twenty metres, leaving only his three most senior subordinates to stand at his side and watch in silence.

Yumichika frowned as he looked down at the sprawled body in front of him. It was by no means his first corpse – he'd lost count of how many he'd seen over the centuries, and had certainly created more than a few himself – but he couldn't help but think there was something rather ugly about this one. Ichigo Kurosaki had been a fellow warrior, one of the strongest and fiercest fighters he had ever had the pleasure of observing, and in the minds of many of the nearby Shinigami he had practically been an honorary member of the Eleventh.

And for all that, it was abundantly clear that he had not died like a warrior. Civilian clothes, no weapon to hand, a single wound that had clearly been unexpected… Yumichika could tell at a glance how Kurosaki had died. Worse than that, he was sure that the Captain at his side could tell as well, and for once the thought that he would be able to witness the Kenpachi in battle filled him only with dread. He merely had to look at the Captain to know exactly what he intended to do to whoever was responsible for this… this travesty.

With surprisingly slow and gentle movements, Zaraki stepped forwards and crouched next to Ichigo's corpse. From this angle Yumichika couldn't see his Captain's eyes, but the way his shoulders trembled was all the sign he needed. Perhaps he said something, but if he did, the words were too faint for anyone else to make out. Then, with equal calm, Zaraki picked up the orange haired body and, cradling it in his arms, made for the portal again.

"Captain…" Yumichika regretted the word the moment it left his mouth, as Zaraki turned to fix him with a one-eyed stare that chilled him to the very core. He had seen many things in that eye over the years – anger, glee, boredom, even concern from time to time. But now… there was nothing; Just a flat, lifeless gaze, as hard and unyielding as granite. After a pause that seemed to drag on for an eternity, Zaraki turned away again, seeing fit only to issue a scant handful of orders in a voice like grinding stone.

"Get his friends. Family too. We can do that much for him. Then get me a target."


	4. Chapter Three  Black Flame

Hueco Mundo was the land of eternal night. For as long as any creature there could recall, the endless desert had been illuminated only by the constant, unwavering moon that hung in the sky above. Small regions might occasionally experience different kinds of light when they played host to clashes between truly powerful hollows, but such displays were by their very nature short lived and confined.

Now, however, a new star sought prominence in those heavens. A rippling pillar of black fire speared into the dark skies above, shedding waves of scarlet light that fell across the endless desert and stained the pale sands red. The air itself seemed to scream at its touch, a ferocious gale tearing out from the site and whipping up the sand into a searing wind that scoured the life from everything in its path.

All over Hueco Mundo, hollows by the thousand froze in their tracks and turned masked faces towards the burning star on the far horizon. The least powerful amongst their number shivered and cowered in the dirt, overcome with the instinctual knowledge that something new and terrible had come to stalk the sands amongst them. Even amongst the more evolved forms, few could fight down a growing sense of almost elemental terror as they gazed at the burning pillar in the distance. In total, there were precisely five individuals who looked upon the fire and saw nothing to fear.

The first was Grimmjow, and he was laughing. Even as the winds picked him up and tossed him through the air like a leaf, the Panther Lord threw back his head and roared with a mad glee. He couldn't see more than a metre in any direction thanks to the way the winds had whipped the pale sands up into the air, but that didn't matter. He could _feel _the rapidly expanding energy from the centre of the storm, saturating the air all around him. The sensation where it met his own aura was something akin to a million razor sharp claws raking at the edges of his mind, and with every savage caress, he laughed a little more. This... this was perfect.

The second was Gin Ichimaru, who simply stood his ground and waited patiently for the storm to subside. The screaming gale surrounded him on all sides, and every couple of seconds a crackling bolt of electrical energy would scythe through the air next to him, but none of it touched him. Gin just stood there, in the centre of his own little pocket of utter tranquility, the smile never leaving his face. There was certainly no fear there, but as to what took its place when he looked through slitted eyes at the heart of the storm, none could say.

The third and the fourth stood together, over a mile away from the centre of the storm. Neither had said a word to the other since their earlier rendezvous, several hours before, but they had come to some form of understanding anyway. It was apparent in the way that they both placed all of their attention on the storm, even though it left their mutual blind sides exposed and a powerful rival within striking distance. In Hueco Mundo, the land of soulless monsters, such careless trust was almost unheard of.

The male, hands in pockets, tilted his head slightly, feeling the wind running its invisible fingers through his hair. "Hmm. I didn't think he would be this noisy." he said, with an air of faint annoyance. The jawbone hanging around his neck gleamed softly in the burning light, the scarlet tinge making the fangs appear soaked in blood. "You think he'll be done soon?"

His companion looked over at him, something strange and incomprehensible in her sea-green eyes. "I hope so. If not, his body may well explode under the strain. And I would not like to know that I led him to such an end."

The male chuckled softly, returning his gaze to the horizon. "You know, that's something I've been meaning to ask you. I know why I'm doing this, and I can guess why you and Ichimaru are. As for Grimmjow, well, that's hardly a secret." He raised a gloved hand to shield his eyes, and frowned slightly as he caught sight of the figure he'd been looking for. "But do you have any idea why _he _agreed?"

"I do not know. He is certainly the last of us that I would have expected to come."

888

"Long time no see... King."

Ichigo opened his eyes and found himself looking up at a pastel blue sky. Fluffy white clouds drifted past on the breeze, though there was no wind to speak of. The ground underneath him felt cool and smooth, and Ichigo felt his breath catch in his throat. This was his inner world, he knew that – after all, he could hardly fail to recognise it, not after all that had transpired here in the past. But it had been so long since he had been able to come here...

With a faint grunt, Ichigo pulled himself up into a sitting position, looking around for the source of that voice. He hadn't heard it in over a year, but there was no mistaking that echoing, oddly chilling voice. It didn't take him long to locate its owner, and when he did, a wide smile started to creep its way onto his face.

There was a flag pole about half way up the side of the building he'd found himself on, jutting out perpendicular to the sheer glass 'floor'. Reclining against its base was a tall, white robed man with skin the colour of freshly fallen snow. His right hand rested upon a large, cleaver-like weapon almost as tall as he was, while in his left was a fanged mask, complete with jutting bull horns. He regarded Ichigo with eyes of black and gold, and his mouth twisted into a seemingly genuine smile. Shirosaki, his inner hollow.

In stark contrast, the man standing atop the pole itself was dressed all in black. His long robes and thick hair rippled in the wind, and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of sun glasses. His right hand was empty, but in his left he carried a long, thin sword that seemed to almost drink in the light that fell upon it. Zangetsu, the spirit of his weapon.

"What's the matter, King?" The hollow spoke, his voice surprisingly soft. "You look surprised to see us. Did you really think we were gone for good?"

"I... yeah. I did. I never thought I'd see either of you again." Ichigo said, trying not to let his emotions show. In a way, this almost felt like a reunion between old friends, and he couldn't help but chuckle at the thought.

"What's so funny, King? I always appreciate a good joke." The hollow smiled, and somehow Ichigo found himself smiling back.

"I just realised that I was actually glad to see you. Sounds kind of ridiculous, doesn't it?"

"No. You should be glad, Ichigo." Zangetsu spoke, his deep voice just as Ichigo remembered it. "We are both a part of you, and nothing good comes from being uneasy with the presence of your own soul."

The hollow snorted. "Says you. I figure the king's better off knowing that I'm here. It keeps him sharp. But that ain't important right now." He leaned forwards, the smile dropping away. "What you going to do now? Being dead and all."

And just like that, Ichigo's good mood vanished. Overhead, the pearly white clouds started to grow and darken, threatening a downpour. Unconsciously, his hand rose to rest on his throat as the memory of the biting pain returned once more. What _was _he going to do now? All his plans for the future... finishing school, getting a job, having a life... all of it was gone, destroyed in an instant by Gin Ichimaru and his sword.

The sheer magnitude of the situation was finally beginning to sink in, and as a result he didn't realise the hollow was moving until the kick connected with his gut and sent him flying through the air. He bounced twice, glass cracking under the impact of his body, before coming to rest a good twenty metres away from his starting position. Spitting blood, Ichigo rose to his feet once more.

"What the hell was that for!" he roared, fire blazing in his eyes. In response, the hollow just sighed and hefted the sword, balancing it on one shoulder.

"You were going to make it rain. We can't stand the rain." He explained, and sure enough, the clouds overhead had reverted to their original clean whiteness. "Ichigo, do you remember what I taught you? About what it means to be a king? It's all about instinct – the desire to get stronger. The way I see it, you're stronger now than you are yesterday. So what's the problem?"

Behind him, Zangetsu walked down the edge of the flag pole and onto the building below, apparently unconcerned with trivial matters like gravity. The chain dangling from the hilt of his sword rattled slightly as he advanced. "Hesitate, and you will die. Retreat, and you will age. Go forwards. Never stand still." he said in a solemn voice. "You knew that once, Ichigo. Have you forgotten it?"

The hollow waved one hand in a gesture that was somewhere between acknowledgement and dismissal. "Right, that too. Point is, you're strong now. Strong enough to do anything you damn well want to. If you really want to live out your whole boring life as a human, you still can. Hell, your dad managed it somehow, so it can't be that hard to pull off. But there's so much more we can do now.

We could head back to the Soul Society. Be a captain, be head captain... be a damned god, have everyone bow at our feet if we want!"

"I don't want that!" Ichigo growled, thinking of Aizen and where his insane quest for godhood had ended. Shirosaki seemed entirely unconcerned by the response.

"Then what do you want, king?" he asked, yellow eyes blazing in challenge. "Because you need to decide. You're dead, but luckily for you, that's just the beginning. There's a whole future stretching out in front of you, and all that remains for you to do is work out what you want from it."

888

The black fire had finally extinguished itself, and the howling winds had died down. Slowly, cautiously, the five figures approached the epicentre once more, every sense stretched to its limit. The air was heavy with the harsh smell of ozone, and the sand nearest the eruption had fused into a clear glass that cracked and splintered underfoot. Tendrils of smoke curled up from those patches that were still molten, but none of the five gave them the slightest thought as they advanced.

In the very centre of the burning field was a crater, at least ten foot deep. Sharing apprehensive looks, they stepped up to the rim and looked in. Crouched in the centre of the crater was Ichigo, head bowed and hands on the ground at his sides. Gone was the casual attire he had previously worn – in its place was a long black coat, edged with white, the right sleeve torn off at the shoulder. A thin chain wrapped itself around the entire length of his bared arm, connecting to the hilt of a sheathed sword at his waist.

Grimmjow tilted his head, regarding the crouched form in the pit below. "Did it work?"

"Shall we find out?" Ichimaru said with a smile, drawing the blade at his waist and angling it towards the crouched figure in the pit below. The others watched him with interest, but none of them intervened. "Shoot to death, shinso."

With a hiss like a striking snake, the blade in Gin's hand shot forwards, extending to twenty times its length inside a second. It caught the light as it flashed forwards, straight towards Ichigo's heart. The tip of it still bore the bloodstains from the last time it had struck this target.

Ichigo did not move from his spot, or even raise his head. Instead, he reached up in a casual gesture, and caught the incoming sword in his gloved hand. For a brief moment, all was silent and still, and then he closed his hand around the blade and yanked it forwards. Gin Ichimaru found himself flying forwards through the air before he could even react. Half a second later, he was flat on his back, staring up into a pair of cold brown eyes and feeling the cold touch of steel against his throat.

"So.. that'll be a 'yes', then."


	5. Chapter 4  New Allies

**A/N – I don't know if it's been because I haven't written any fanfic in ages or not, but damn, I had completely forgotten just how awesome it feels to get positive reviews. Many thanks to all those of you kind enough to read and review – you are all officially awesome. Anyway, merry Christmas to all of you.**

**Oh, and I have finally worked out the overall plotline for this story, which is nice. I tend to make these things up as I write, but rest assured, I have a definitive end in sight with this one. I wonder how long it will take people to work out just what that end is...**

888

The pitch black blade of Tensa Zangetsu was as steady and motionless as a rock in Ichigo's grasp, the very tip of its razor edge hovering just above the smooth flesh of Gin's throat. If the ex-captain felt any discomfort at the situation, it didn't show on his face, nor in the depths of his pale blue eyes. He locked gazes with the emotionless figure standing over him, and ever so slowly, began to smile.

"That's a good look in your eyes, Kurosaki-kun." He said, ever so softly. "It's nice seeing it again."

The sword slid forwards by the merest fraction of an inch, sinking into the exposed skin. A thin trickle of scarlet blood pooled around the tiny wound and began running its way down Gin's throat.

"Is that right?" Ichigo asked, his face expressionless. "And if I decide to kill you for what you've done? Would you still feel good about giving me back my strength?" There was an odd tone to his voice, as though it were somehow echoing in the empty wastes of the desert.

"Yeah, I reckon so." Gin tilted his head, ignoring the way it caused the sword at his neck to tear at his skin. The trickle of blood became a small stream. "You ain't meant to be weak, Ichigo. Be honest now – it was tearing you apart, wasn't it? Not being able to protect anyone any more, having to rely on others?" That got a reaction. Gin doubted that anyone else could see the faint trembling in the blade, but then no one else had it partially buried in their throat. He could feel every slight movement that it made. "Thought so. It's why I went ahead with this little plan of mine, even though it only works when you're dead.

He closed his eyes again and relaxed, letting his muscles go limp. "So you can kill me if you want. Eye for an eye an' all that. But one way or the other.." he smiled again, a faint quirk of the lips, "I'm done running."

For a long moment, Ichigo didn't react. He just stared down at the helpless man at his feet, considering. Then, with a faint sigh, he took Zangetsu away and stepped back. No matter what else might have changed, he couldn't bring himself to murder someone who had surrendered to him. He knew that Ichimaru couldn't be trusted, but even so, the thought of putting a sword through his throat simply felt wrong.

_One of these days, King, those morals of yours are going to get you killed. Again._ Shirosaki muttered in the back of his mind, but his tone was more amused that genuinely angry. Ichigo didn't respond, instead tilting his head back to look up at the rim of the crater, and the four figures standing there watching him. The second and third he didn't recognise, but they were discarded from his interest almost immediately as his gaze alighted on the fourth figure.

"Ulquiorra?" he asked, eyes widening in surprise. "But... I killed you."

The raven-haired Arrancar regarded him with cold green eyes, both hands resting casually in his pockets. "And I killed you, Ichigo Kurosaki. Twice." he said, and for the absolute briefest of moments, the faintest flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Now you know how it feels."

Ichigo couldn't help but smile, though his free hand drifted up to rest on his chest when Ulquiorra spoke of killing him. The sensation of an energy blast completely obliterating the majority of his torso was not one easily forgotten, and despite it all, he couldn't help but feel the faintest stirrings of fear as he looked upon the former Espada. "Yeah, I guess. Why are you here, though? You certainly don't owe me anything."

Ulquiorra studied him seriously for a long moment, and there was something in his gaze that might almost have been curiosity. "You killed Lord Aizen. That is a feat that I thought beyond any Soul Reaper or Hollow. I never even considered that a human might do it. You demonstrated that humans, and perhaps Soul Reapers, are worth my interest." He paused for a moment. "Unfortunately, I cannot observe either in Hueco Mundo, and I do not believe that I can leave without being hunted down and slain. You, however, can."

Ichigo blinked in surprise. "You want my... _protection_?"

"Yes." Ulquiorra replied, entirely calm. "You have displayed a willingness to oppose the Soul Reapers before for those you consider your friends, even when they do not ask for your assistance. I am not your friend, but I believe that if I were to pledge myself to you, the overall effect should be the same."

By the time Ulquiorra finished speaking, Ichigo was not the only one staring at him in complete shock. Even Gin seemed somewhat surprised, having silently picked himself up off the floor. Eventually, it was Grimmjow who broke the silence with a roaring laugh.

"Bullshit." He cackled, smiling in a way that revealed far too many teeth. "It ain't just any human you're interested in, is it?"

Ulquiorra regarded the blue-haired Arrancar across from him stoically. "I do not know what you..."

"Yes you do." Grimmjow said, grinning. "Can't say I blame you, really. But oh, that's priceless..."

"Enough, Grimmjow." It was one of the strangers that had spoken, the male one with the dark brown hair, and to Ichigo's immense surprise, the violent Espada immediately stopped talking. Apparently satisfied, the newcomer looked down at Ichigo and gave him a friendly nod. "Pleased to meet you, Kurosaki-san. I'm Stark. I'd introduce you to Lilynette, but I think she's off sulking somewhere."

"Stark, huh?" Ichigo frowned. "Don't think I know you. What's your story?"

"Far too long and boring to be told now." Stark responded, sitting down on the rim of the crater and supporting his chin with one hand. "Glad the plan worked, though. You seem like a much more easy going sort of fellow than the last one. Not as quick with the orders, either, from what I've heard."

"It's true." Gin said, idly touching one hand to his neck and then staring at his bloodied fingers in fascination. "Ichi-kun prefers to think of people as his friends, rather than his followers. Kind of cute, really, and he has real moral reservations about the whole 'stabbing allies in the back' routine. Which, incidentally, explains why the lovely Harribel is here, in case you were wondering." He indicated the blond woman with the striking green eyes standing just to the left of Stark, absently leaning down to wipe the blood off of his hands.

Harribel and Ichigo studied each other for a long moment, neither saying a word. Ichigo's eyes narrowed as he took in the long, savage scar that stretched across the woman's exposed stomach before rising again to meet her gaze. After a few seconds, she nodded slowly, and he got the distinct impression that he'd just been tested in some way. Presumably he had passed, given that she hadn't simply turned and walked away, but beyond that he couldn't even begin to guess at the details.

"Well, now that the meet and greet is all taken care of..." Grimmjow drawled, arms crossed over his chest, "What do we do now?"

Ichigo looked up at him. "That depends. Can you open a Garganta?"


	6. Chapter 5  Return to Soul Society

**A/N – Woah. I woke up yesterday and found myself with no less than twenty different emails regarding this story. Six more arrived before I left the house. Apparently, a whole bunch of you fine people have seen fit to either review, favourite or alert yourself to this story. It is much appreciated, folks, hence the relatively rapid update.**

888

The dirt crunched softly underfoot as Ichigo stepped out from the Garganta and onto the ground of the execution hill. The others were already waiting for him there, clustered in a lose grouping in the centre of the barren hilltop and staring out over the roofs of the Soul Society. Judging by the way that the sun still hung high in the sky above their heads, it was still the middle of the afternoon, and there wasn't the slightest breeze to detract from the stifling heat.

The high temperature brought back memories for Ichigo, and as the black void of the portal sealed itself behind him, he glanced along the hill to the spot where the gigantic execution frame had once stood. It was gone now, the useless fragments evidently removed sometime in the elapsed time since that eventful day over a year ago. Frowning, Ichigo couldn't help but wonder if its absence meant that the Soul Society had removed the death penalty for their laws, or whether they'd simply decided to content themselves with something less... grandiose.

It was Stark who jolted him out of his reverie, rubbing his chin as he gazed out over the home of those who thought themselves his ancestral enemies. "Is it just me, or does the layout of those streets make absolutely no damn sense?"

At his side, a slender girl with violent eyes nodded seriously, strands of pale green hair sticking out from under the helmet-like mask that covered half of her face. Ichigo assumed that she was the 'Lilynette' that Stark had mentioned, back in the desert of Hueco Mundo, but given the way she avoided so much as looking at him, he hadn't yet had a chance to confirm it. "Yeah. I keep trying to follow them, and it makes my head hurt."

"The effect is presumably deliberate," Ulquiorra intoned, not bothering to look at the two Arrancar that he was addressing, "A defensive maze to separate and confuse any invading army. I wonder if it is a trait of Soul Reapers in general, this need to make their homes into a fortress."

"Heh. Would explain Las Noches, I guess." Grimmjow muttered. He had his hands in his pockets and looked distinctly unimpressed as he surveyed the dense urban terrain all around them. "Still can't see the point of it, though. You try fighting in a place like this, all you'll do is break things."

Ichigo nodded as he stepped forwards, remembering the destructive effects of most of the fighting that he'd seen here. Privately, he wondered if the majority of the buildings stretching out before him were generally inhabited or not. Hopefully they wouldn't have to fight here, but if they did, the densely packed terrain could only lead to a truly horrific amount of collateral damage.

"Our arrival has probably been detected. What should we do?" Harribel asked in a husky voice, looking at Ichigo. It was the first time that the blonde Hollow had spoken since he had laid eyes on her, and he was surprised to see her breaking her silence for something that was almost trivial. He reconsidered quickly – if their equipment was worth a damn, then right now Soul Society was aware that a sizeable group of powerful hollows had just made entry in the very heart of their fortress. Just because the response had not yet materialised, did not mean that it would be anything less than brutally efficient.

For a moment he considered, doing his best to remember everything that Rukia had ever taught him about the Soul Society's defensive procedures. The Twelfth Division was the Research and Development Bureau, that was it, and that meant that they would be the ones with the sensor equipment that would detect their presence. The next logical step would be sending an urgent notice to the Captain General, or maybe the Division nearest to the source of the disturbance. A quick check confirmed that, despite their casual attitude, Gin and the Espada were all doing their best to keep their spiritual pressure suppressed, and experience taught him that his own would be practically invisible. That was a problem.

"Right now, we can expect the alert to have spread to maybe one or two divisions at the most." He said carefully, suddenly aware of how everyone was looking at him. Even Ulquiorra had turned his emotionless gaze away from the horizon to regard him – apparently his talk of service had been entirely sincere, which was more than a little unsettling. "If we're going to do this, then I want everyone to know. If they don't know what they're facing, they'll probably just attack first."

Gin tilted his head to one side, his silvery hair gleaming in the light. "So, you want a big flashing sign, then?" he chirped, an amused smile on his face. "Ya know, generally trespassers don't advertise their presence to the guards. Just saying."

"That's the point." Ichigo said calmly, looking the ex-captain in the eye. Or rather, trying to, as Gin had reverted to his previous habit of permanently squinting in that quite frankly rather unsettling fashion.

"You want loud, then?" Grimmjow asked, a feral grin on his features. "I can do loud."

With that, the blue-haired Arrancar threw back his head and roared at the sky, ending any attempt to hide his spiritual pressure. A rippling corona of lightning blue energy flared into life around him, as though he were standing in the centre of a violent fire, and bolts of crackling electricity slammed into the ground all around them, kicking up small clouds of dirt. The roar echoed out into the afternoon air, scattering clouds of birds from their perches in the trees around the base of the hill.

Ulquiorra watched the display for half a second, gave what might have been a slightly contemptuous snort, and followed suit. Outwardly, he didn't appear to do anything – he barely even seemed to move. But all the same, a rippling whirlpool of black and green spiritual energy sprung into being around him, reaching into the sky like a spectral tornado. Ichigo couldn't help but wince ever so slightly in sympathetic memory as the writhing energy filled the air all around him.

When Harribel unshackled her power, however, there wasn't even the faintest visible aura around her. No burning inferno or crackling whirlpool, not even the slight glowing outline that Ichigo had come to associate with spiritual power. She was simply _there, _the sheer force of her presence suddenly pressing down all around them, as though they stood on the floor of a deep ocean. Ichigo suspected that, had he been any less powerful, the sheer force of her aura would have been enough to simply crush the life out of him, and he doubted that she would have even noticed.

Stark didn't do anything, just stretched his arms and yawned loudly. He met Ichigo's questioning look with a raised eyebrow. "That's probably loud enough, I figure. Besides, don't want our hosts to know everything that you've brought with you." he paused, and Ichigo couldn't help but notice that despite the incredible amounts of energy the Arrancar around them were emitting, neither the brown haired Espada or the slender girl at his side showed the slightest hint of discomfort. "Though you might want to be contributing yourself, now." Stark continued, in that same almost-bored voice. "Otherwise, they'll just figure we're some exceptionally arrogant enemies."

Ichigo nodded and held Tensa Zangetsu across his body, ready to swing. He thought back to his fight with Aizen for a brief moment, and adjusted his aim so that it pointed away from any of his unlikely companions and into the empty skies around them. Aware of the fact that everyone was looking at him again, sharply expectant looks in their eyes, he took and deep breath and slashed the sword through the air.

"Getsuga Tenshou."

888

It was not often that Captain Hitsugaya of the Tenth Division had many good things to say about his Lieutenant. He could talk at great length on her negative qualities, of course – her rampant alcoholism and what was apparently a complete inability to do any kind of the routine paperwork that came from running a unit being two of the most severe amongst them. Indeed, given how often that Lieutenant Matsumoto seemed to drive him almost to the boundaries of insanity, more than one Soul Reaper had speculated that she held some sort of unseen leverage that prevented him from simply dismissing her outright.

Opinions on just what that leverage might be varied greatly. Those least fond of the blond Lieutenant believed that it had to be some kind of horrible blackmail material, and some of the less moral amongst them had made discrete attempts to secure such leverage of their own over the diminutive captain. Others, generally among the older Reapers, remembered how it had been Matsumoto who had first brought her captain to the Academy, and believed that perhaps it was gratitude which stayed Hitsugaya's hand.

The truth was, however, that for all her casual and disrespectful behaviour in the office, when it truly mattered Rangiku Matsumoto was entirely capable of being both a disciplined warrior and a capable commander in her own right. So it was that when the massive spike of spirit energy tore into the sky over the execution field, Captain Hitsugaya didn't need to waste time issuing her any orders. They simply exchanged glances, nodded, and half a second later were outside their offices and running full pelt towards the site of the disturbance. All around the Division, lesser officers were rallying the Soul Reapers under their command and organising the first stages of a full scale deployment, their voices steady and assured no matter how worried they actually felt.

It was only when the roaring crescent of black energy tore across the sky overhead that the Tenth Division's legendary efficiency threatened to falter. It stretched across almost the entire horizon, a banner of infernal darkness trailing blood red energy that seemed to slice apart the heavens themselves. It was not the power behind the attack that caused the Captain and his Lieutenant to slide to a halt, however, though it was certainly almost horrific in its potency. Rather, it was the specific feel to the power that carved up the sky that gave them pause. No one who had ever fought alongside Ichigo Kurosaki could ever fail to recognise the touch of his spiritual pressure, though their outstretched senses could find no hint of him on the Execution Hill itself – just in the roaring blast wave of his signature attack.

Shaking off their momentary hesitation, Hitsugaya and Matsumoto resumed their rush, vanishing in twin flickers of flash step.

888

Byakuya Kuchiki had not expected to find another person standing over the grave of Ichigo Kurosaki when he had chosen to visit earlier that morning. After the inevitable political wrangling had been completed, he fully expected the Central 46 to declare the human boy a war hero for his instrumental role in stopping Aizen, and have him buried with full honours in some kind of lavish spectacle of a funeral. Doubtless they'd nominate a functionary to recite an impressive speech about the boy's merits and imprint his legacy of sacrifice and protection onto the minds of every person watching. An example that they'd be keen to have the next generation of Academy students to follow, all in all.

It was for precisely that reason that he had elected to have his own, private shrine to the boy's memory built within the walls of the Kuchiki estate. Though he understood the need that the Central 46 felt for a lavish ceremony, he personally despised the thought of the elaborate pomp display that he knew was coming and had no intention of attending it himself. He had not had a great many opportunities to get to know Kurosaki personally, except from what he observed over the top of their crossed swords, but what he had seen had been quietly impressive. The boy had possessed a certain kind of honesty and loyalty that was sadly lacking in many of those who called themselves his betters, and the noble could not shake the feeling that Kurosaki would have equally despised the spectacle of his own state funeral.

So he had built the shrine, as a tribute to the memory of the boy who had earned his gratitude on two occasions, and a measure of his respect on countless more. A simple wooden roof in the middle of the cherry tree grove, to keep the rain off, and underneath a small memorial – a picture of the young Kurosaki, captured by a fine artist that his family had often patronised, and beneath it a small bronze plaque. On it, in elegant writing, was an inscription:

_Nobility cares not for blood._

In retrospect, it should not have been surprising to him to arrive at the shrine and find his adopted sister already there. Rukia had been spending a great deal of time there, ever since word had reached them of the boy's death, often doing nothing more than staring at the picture in silence. It was because of that silence that Byakuya did not notice her presence until he was already under the arched roof himself. He had intended to retreat and respect her privacy, but then his sister had turned to face him, and such was the quiet agony in her deep blue eyes that he found himself stepping forwards instead.

They stood there for a time, his hand upon her shoulder, regarding the memorial. Twice, Byakuya thought he saw her lips moving, but whatever it was she thought to say, he was content to allow it to remain between her and the dead. He wondered how to approach telling her of his decision – that he already had agents scouting the Rukongai, searching for a trace of the boy's spiritual energy, intent on bringing him safely back to the estate. He had done much the same for Rukia herself, honouring his wife's last request, and he could hardly do less for the boy who had done so much for them. Even though he did not expect Ichigo to remember who he was – those without any significant spiritual energy of their own were often the first to lose their memories upon death – he would still honour the debt he held to the boy and see that his shade was well cared for. Even if Rukia did not ask it of him.

He was just about to speak when the sharply acidic wind of hollow energy blasted out from the execution hill in the distance, ruffling the leaves of the surrounding trees with its force. Immediately, both members of the Kuchiki clan laid aside their grief and drew their swords, hard eyes turned in the direction of those who thought to disturb their mourning. Neither needed to give voice to the obvious – the possibility that this sudden incursion was connected to the murder of Ichigo Kurosaki was too significant to easily dismiss, and if it was they would take vengeance with cold steel.

When the crackling arc of Getsuga Tenshou slashed across the sky a few moments later, neither of them knew what to think.

888

When the time came, Kenpachi Zaraki was in the process of training a pair of new recruits. He didn't normally bother himself with such things – indeed, before today, he had done it precisely once before. Leave it to the other Captains to waste their time with amateur weaklings. Zaraki gave his attention only when he felt that the recipient had earned it, and the rest of them be damned. In this case, though, he felt he could make an exception to that policy.

Both of the students were women, which was another thing that was unusual about the whole situation. Oh, there were females in the Eleventh Division, especially since he had let it become known that he didn't give two shits for your gender if you could hold your own in a fight, but they were generally seasoned fighters from other divisions that had made the decision to transfer in. The mindset required to flourish in the Eleventh was not one commonly found in academy graduates, and those who did possess the necessary confidence – some would say foolishness – were almost always male. These two, though, weren't even official Soul Reapers, let alone graduates.

But he'd hardly been about to turn down Ichigo Kurosaki's sister and oldest friend when they came knocking on his door, especially not once he'd seen the fire burning in their eyes. As an experiment, he'd briefly removed his eye patch earlier, and though the crushing pressure had nearly sent them to their knees, neither of them had so much as whimpered. He'd seen ranked officers from other divisions go pale in the face when confronted with the full scope of his power, but not these two slender woman from the living world. Hell, the older one – Tatsuki, he remembered – had managed to punch him in the face shortly afterwards.

Hadn't done a great deal, obviously, but impressive all the same.

He'd just finished their third spar of the day when he felt Ichigo's energy burn its way across the sky. The dojo they were using for practice didn't have any windows or doors facing in the right direction, so he smashed his way straight out through the wall just in time to see the vicious crescent of energy pass overhead. For a long moment, Kenpachi just stared at it, feeling his old scars start to ache in memory of the blade that had delivered them. Then, his mouth split into a wide grin.

"Ken-chan!" With a squeal of utter delight, Yachiru cannoned through a nearby window like a bright pink meteor and landed on the grass a few metres away from him. She didn't seem to notice the debris around her, re-orientating herself rapidly before hopping up onto his shoulder with cat like grace. "Ichi's come back! He can play again!"

For the first time in several months, Kenpachi Zaraki felt like laughing. Sword in hand, he tore off towards the hill in the distance, his own energy flaring up around him in response to the blatant challenge that Ichigo had sent scything across the sky. There were several walls and a small building directly between him and his destination, but he barely even noticed, ploughing straight through them as Yachiru clung to his shoulder and giggled in manic delight.

Karin and Tatsuki would have followed him, were it not for the fact that they had just finished a sparring session with Kenpachi Zaraki and were thus in no fit state to move a muscle. The door behind them slid open, and with a quiet sigh, the mid-ranked officer from the 4th squad set about healing their wounds.


	7. Chapter 6  Reunion

**A/N – Happy new year to everyone reading this story. Hopefully, 2012 will not in fact herald the end of the world, because then I'd be dead, and that would be sad. Anyway.. thanks to all of my reviewers, and here's a new chapter.**

It was, somewhat predictably, Grimmjow who broke the stunned silence that had fallen over their small group. Hands in his pockets, he watched as the great ribbon of black and red energy faded away into the distance, then whistled slowly. The jawbone attached to the side of his face twisted the noise in an odd way, giving it a strange sort of distinctive almost-echo.

"Damn, Ichigo. Since when were you that strong?"

Ichigo slid Tensa Zangetsu back into its sheathe with a smooth motion, faint wisps of steam rising from the obsidian blade. He glanced over at the blue-haired Espada and raised an eyebrow.

"Since you stabbed me." Grimmjow didn't seem at all fazed by the reminder, just grinning widely at what was apparently a fond memory. Ichigo snorted and turned his gaze to Gin, who was standing there with an enigmatic smile on his face. "Speaking of which... where'd you get that sword anyway?"

"I stole it." Gin admitted without the slightest hint of shame. Before Ichigo could ask any more questions, he turned his head to look down the length of the Execution Hill. "Ah, I think our guests are arriving. Should prob'ly get dressed up right for them, eh Ichi-kun?"

With that, Ichimaru reached into his pockets and pulled out a small black silk bag. Like a magician demonstrating a trick he carefully opened the top of it and, with a dramatic flourish, dragged the contents out into the harsh light of day. Two large, white pieces of fabric almost seemed to fly out of the tiny bag, and instinctively Ichigo reached up and snatched one of them out of the air. It was only when he looked down at it that he realised what exactly it was he was holding.

A smooth white haori, the signature garb of a Soul Reaper Captain. Slowly, Ichigo turned it over and looked at the back, already knowing what he would find there. In simple, elegant lines, the symbol of the Fifth Division stared back up at him. Aizen's division. With a frown, Ichigo looked up at Gin, who had already donned his own haori in the meantime.

"Don't you think this might give them the wrong impression?"

Ichimaru didn't respond. Instead, he slowly turned his head to regard the loose group of Arrancar on the barren hilltop around them, then took a pointed glance in the direction that the Getsuga Tenshou had been fired. Ichigo smiled slightly. "Fair point."

The haori felt... comfortable on his shoulders as he donned it. No, it was more than that. It felt like he had always been meant to wear it, as though it was a part of himself that he had never before realised was missing. Until now, he had only associated that feeling with the outfit that came as part of his Bankai. Inside his mind, he felt Zangetsu almost hum in approval. Even Shirosaki seemed to like it, though that might have just been because it was white.

Smiling, properly smiling for the first time in months, Ichigo turned and waited for the Captains to arrive.

888

They came striding over the barren hilltop in a lose group, the senior ranks of the Gotei 13, some of the most powerful individuals in all of existence. They had all come, for one reason or another, to answer the challenging summons that had scythed across the sky barely a minute ago. Ahead of them, they could see the rippling columns of spiritual energy that had first drawn their attention, and in response more than one of them had loosened the tight control they normally exerted over their own power, until the air around the group shimmered as though in a heat haze.

The Captain-Commander walked at the front, his gnarled wooden staff tapping rhythmically against the ground. He did not hurry, simply pacing along with his eyes all but closed, looking for all the world like an old man out enjoying the fine summer day. A careful observer, however, might have noted the way that his elderly hand gripped the wooden staff tightly, and seen past his casual attitude to the concern beneath.

To his left walked Jushiro Ukitake, Captain of the Thirteenth. His snow white hair rippled slightly in the breeze, and his normally kind face wore an expression of concern. The source of his worry walked at his side, and despite her utter grace and composure, Ukitake had known Rukia Kuchiki for long enough to see the emotions running rampant under that surface façade. For a moment, he considered asking her to wait behind. He didn't want her to get hurt, not again, and if this turned out to be some sort of cruel trick, he knew it would break her heart. One glance at the white band around her upper arm told him how futile that request would be – he'd made her a Lieutenant, after all, and to ask her to leave now would destroy any sort of claim he had to being confident in that choice.

Rukia, for her part, felt like she was only just holding on to her sanity. She had spent the better part of a year coming to accept the fact that she would never see or speak to Ichigo again, and when her promotion had come through, she had finally managed to convince herself that it was all going to be OK. He would live his life, and she would live hers. And then he'd been murdered, cut down in the street, and she had felt her heart shatter once more. And yet... she knew that reiatsu, knew it intimately, and there was no doubt in her mind that it had been Ichigo who sent the energy wave scything across the skies of Seireitei. It was impossible, he was dead and she had seen the body, and yet...

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and she looked up in surprise, shock temporarily breaking through her carefully held mask of control. Isshin Kurosaki, the only individual present who wasn't currently an active member of the Gotei 13, didn't say a word as he met her gaze, but he didn't have to. Rukia remembered him as an enthusiastic and almost insanely cheerful father, but there was none of that levity in his gaze now. He looked strong and serious, and in his dark eyes was the reassurance she so desperately needed – _You are not alone._

On the commander's right hand side walked the unlikely pair of Captain's Zaraki and Kyoraku. Traditionally, it had always been the eighth captain that flanked Yamamoto, his flowery pink kimono and laid back behaviour offsetting the commander's serious disposition in a manner that spoke of their long history together, but Zaraki had never been one to keep to tradition. As it was, he barely seemed to be restraining himself from breaking into a headlong charge, given the way that he stalked forwards with a ferocious smile on his face. For his part, Kyoraku didn't look to be put out in the slightest by the presence of his savage fellow captain, nor the pink-haired Lieutenant that perched on Zaraki's shoulder and occasionally broke out in gleeful laughter. His own second in command, Nanao Ise, was considerably less relaxed, clearly uncomfortable in Zaraki's presence yet unwilling to abandon her position at her captain's side.

Captain Kuchiki walked near the middle of the group, feelings hidden behind an expressionless mask. He too had felt the oh-so-familiar signature of the boy's power in the earlier signal, recognised it instantly from their battle all those months ago. He did not, however, assume that meant Ichigo Kurosaki had somehow returned from the dead. Aizen had specialised in illusions, after all, and while he knew the traitor himself to be dead there was no guarantee that this was not still his work. They had underestimated Aizen once before, and paid for it dearly. He looked sideways and caught the cold eyes of Soifon staring back. After a moment's consideration, the two nodded to each other, just slightly. Neither would be caught unprepared, not again.

Behind them all came the remaining members of the Gotei 13, those drawn here by duty or curiosity rather than by a personal stake in what they might find. The Captain and Lieutenant of the Tenth, each equally calm and professional as they advanced, despite their varying natures. Unohana and Kotetsu, drawn away from the infirmary and quietly hoping that the violence on the horizon would not come to pass. Hisagi and Kira, provisional captains, veterans by the necessities forced upon them by the Winter War. And behind them all, trailing with an air of complete boredom, Mayuri Kurotsuchi.

At the head of the group, Yamamoto crested a small rise in the battered hilltop and came to an abrupt halt. The other members of the Gotei 13 reached him a few moments later, and like their commander, each of them froze, staring at the sight that met their eyes with a mix of happy surprise and horrified disbelief.

Ichigo Kurosaki stared right back at them, the white haori around his shoulder billowing slightly in the breeze. It was him, there was no question of it – the orange hair, grown long enough to brush his shoulders; the black hilted sword belted at his waist; his warm brown eyes. And yet, there wasn't the slightest trace of spiritual pressure about him, not the merest hint of the insane levels of power he had once held. It had been one of Ichigo Kurosaki's most defining features, his utter inability to mask his spiritual pressure, and there was no way he could have learned total control in just three short days. As the eyes of the assembled captains shifted to the rest of the group waiting for them, disbelief and surprise turned to anger and trepidation.

Gin Ichimaru waited just behind the one who could not be Ichigo, his head bowed and arms crossed within the long sleeves of his haori. His silvery hair hung over his face, obscuring most of his facial features, but somehow everyone who looked at him had no doubt that the renegade was smiling. Around him stood what could only be the surviving Espada, who returned the hostile gazes of the Soul Reapers with looks of calm indifference. All save the one with the electric blue hair, who almost looked ready to draw the sword at his waist.

The two groups stared wordlessly at each other for a few moments, then from the ranks of the Soul Reapers, Isshin Kurosaki walked forwards, dark eyes fixed on the man who somehow, impossibly, might be his son. Halfway to his destination, he broke into a run.

"ICHIGO!" He roared, springing into a flying kick aimed at his son's face. Ichigo blinked, calm expression gone, and then with a reflex born of years of practice he caught Isshin's leg, turned, and threw the older man threw the air.

"What the hell kind of greeting is that!" he roared at the battered form of his father, who had come to rest a good ten metres away in a cloud of dust. Isshin merely raised one hand to the sky, fist curled and thumb pointed up.

"Yup! It's him!"

888

The tension shattered like glass, hands easing away from sword hilts and tense muscles relaxing. With the ice thoroughly broken, different members of the two groups went to meet one another, gravitating towards familiar faces that many of them had previously only seen over a battlefield.

Stark, much to his veiled discomfort, found himself confronted once more by Kyoraku and Ukitake, though this time their swords remained sheathed, at least for now. The three of them regarded each other for a time, while Lilynette shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot in the background. Eventually, Shunsui decided to speak.

"Been a while, hasn't it, Espada-san?" he asked, voice low and friendly. To hear it, one might never have guessed that the last time the two had met, Kyoraku had stabbed his opposite number in the heart – or rather, the gaping hole when that heart had once resided.

"Yeah, it has." Stark returned, making a deliberate choice not to elaborate on just what he'd spent that time doing. Namely, hiding in the wasteland and doing his very best to keep the life from fleeing his shattered body. "But I'm not really one of the Espada any more. That name died with Aizen, and there's only four of us left anyhow. It's just Stark now." The small girl at his side delivered a swift kick to the side of his shin, prompting a quick correction. "And Lilynette, of course."

"Well, as nice as it is to see you again, Stark-san, I can't help but wonder why." Ukitake put it, his expression somehow managing to be both welcoming and concerned at the same time. "I wouldn't have thought that coming here would have been your first choice, considering... well, everything."

Stark shrugged. "Normally, you'd be right. But Ichigo wanted to come, and it was either follow him or be alone again." he made a lazy gesture indicating where the orange-haired Vizard was yelling at his father, who looked both absolutely ecstatic and completely heart-broken. A faint smile tugged at the Primera's lips. "Kid can be very stubborn about these things."

"He came to see his friends." Lilynette put in, nodding seriously. She sounded surprisingly mature for such a young looking creature, and the effect was only slightly ruined by the fact that she was only about half the height of the three men around her.

The four of them watched Ichigo for a moment, faint smiles on their faces, before Kyoraku produced a jar of sake and three small bowls from somewhere inside his uniform. Stark nodded in agreement, and the two of them sat down to drink, while in the background Ukitake and Lilynette began a heated, if somewhat muted, argument over whether the age limits on alcohol applied in the case of immortal Arrancar.

888

"Captain?"

Ichimaru froze, having been vaguely hoping that he might be able to slink away from the heart-warming gathering atop the hill and perhaps come back later. He had never been good at dealing with people, never been nearly as charismatic or persuasive as Aizen had. It was why he had chosen to exact his revenge directly, rather than simply expose the traitor to the light of whatever passed for justice these days. Given the choice, he'd been painfully aware that the authorities would accept Aizen's word over his, and whatever else would have happened after that, his chance would have been lost.

Gin realised that he'd been silent for too long, and turned to regard the pair of figures who had followed him away from the gathering. He made sure that his cheerful mask was firmly in place before he responded.

"Ah, Izuru, Rangiku-chan. How nice to see you again."

The two lieutenants looked at each other for a moment, perhaps put off by his oh-so-cheery greeting. Gin had long ago realised that nothing he did would remove the sense of unease that most people felt when they looked at him, so he had stopped trying and, instead, concentrated on enhancing it. He'd gotten so good at it that even the high and mighty Byakuya Kuchiki would sometimes show visible discomfort in his presence, an achievement that Gin took no small amount of pride in.

It was Izuru who spoke first, his mournful eyes betraying his nerves for all that his voice stayed steady as a rock. "We heard the story, Captain. Ichigo told us what you did, and it's... well, its sort of public knowledge that you were never really on Aizen's side." He paused for a moment, mustering his courage, and Gin felt suddenly rather proud of his old lieutenant. The Izuru Kira that he had known before the War would never have questioned him like this. "What we wanted to ask... that is, what we want to know is..."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Rangiku cut in, and in her voice Gin could hear the hoarse tones of utter betrayal. He sighed softly, and opened his eyes, fixing both of them with his soft blue eyes. He'd told Ichigo that he was done with running, and Gin figured that now might as well be a good time to make good on that promise.

"Because ya would have wanted to come with." He said softly, and held up one pale hand as he saw Rangiku open her mouth to respond. "I couldn't have that. Would have ruined both your lives along with mine, and that's even if it didn't get you killed."

Rangiku stepped forwards suddenly, and for the briefest of moments Gin thought she was going to punch him. Instead, she just looked at him, and for once it was Gin Ichimaru who found himself uncomfortable. "Did it ever occur to you, Gin, that we might care about you enough to go anyway?"

It was at that moment, staring into Rangiku Matsumoto's eyes and listening to the fire in her voice, that Gin was reminded of just why he loved her.


	8. Chapter 7  Mistakes and Bloodshed

**A/N – Well, here's another chapter, now that things have finally settled down a bit here. Just moved back up to Uni, and hopefully managing to sort out a problem with my course – namely, getting potentially kicked off it a week before the exam because I didn't realise that a set of official paperwork had been changed ever so slightly from last year. Isn't real life drama fun?**

**In any case, I just checked the stats for this story, and it makes me feel much better. 48 reviews, 42 Favourites, and 51 story alerts. Said it before, will say it again – you people are all awesome. Thanks very much. Anyway, enough procrastinating – on with the story!**

888

"Ichigo?"

The voice was quiet, barely reaching above a faint whisper. It should barely have been audible at all, especially given the way that the orange haired Vizard was yelling and his father was wailing, and yet the moment she said it, Ichigo's voice cut off and he turned to look at her.

"Rukia." He said softly as he looked at her, faint surprise in his voice. His warm brown eyes flickered back and forth as he looked her over, quickly noting the badge attached to her arm and the way she stood close to her captain's side. She looked calm and confident; the perfect picture of a Vice Captain as she waited for a proper reply, but then he looked into her dark eyes and saw the truth lurking behind the dignified mask. There was pain there, shot through with crippling doubt and insecurity, and in a heartbeat Ichigo decided that he couldn't allow that. So he smiled, put the slightest hint of a tease in his voice, and said "Not gotten any taller then, midget?"

He was not surprised when the mask shattered, and all those painful feelings were replaced in an instant by searing anger. He'd known Rukia for long enough predict exactly how she'd react to such a light hearted quip in a situation as tense as this one, which was exactly why he'd made it in the first place. Rukia combined the noble's hatred of such irreverent behaviour with the street brat's preferred means of correcting it, so he was prepared for the impending explosion. He'd much rather see rage on her face than misery, and though he was a little surprised when one hand fell to clutch her sword, that too was not unexpected. He took half a step backwards as the glittering blade of her sword slashed through the air towards him, the words of an apology already forming on his lips. Long experience with her fighting style told him that the attack had not been a serious one, made to release feeling that actually harm her target, so he kept his arms by his sides and the smile on his face.

What was most definitely _not _expected, however, was to hear the faint rasp of a second sword being drawn, followed an instant later by the flat buzzing noise of a Hollow's sonido. There was no expression on Ulquiorra's face when he appeared behind Rukia, except perhaps for the faintest narrowing of his eyes, but there was no mistaking his intent as he raised his sword high and swung it down towards the Soul Reaper's exposed back.

What happened next occurred with such lightning fast speed that only a few of those watching from the hilltop could keep track of it. One moment, the Espada's sword was arcing downwards with lethal intent, aimed to slice straight through the spine and into the heart beyond. The next, it was motionless, held in place by the razor edge of a third sword that seemed to materialise almost out of no where. Ulquiorra's green eyes turned sideways, and met those of Byakuya Kuchiki.

All around them, the ring of steel filled the air as a score of other blades were drawn in swift succession, the harsh sunlight overhead causing them to shine brightly. The air was suddenly thick with spirit energy as bonds were released, and the raw expression of killing intent raked up and down bare skin like a thousand knives. Ichigo felt his eyes widen as he saw the precipice that the entire situation verged on, and he knew he had but a few seconds at best to stop it from degenerating into an all out bloodbath.

"Stand down, Ulquiorra." He snapped, memorising the hundred different times he had heard the officers around them issue orders and forcing that iron hard tone into every word. The pale Espada complied instantly, taking a swift step backwards and sheathing his sword with smoothly efficient motions. A few moments later, Byakuya backed off as well, though unlike his opposite number he kept his sword held ready. Ichigo wasn't about to complain, though, given the situation. Instead, he took a breath and faced the Espada with cold eyes. "What the hell was that?"

"She attacked you." Ulquiorra said with a calm indifference, tilting his head slightly towards Rukia, who had retreated a few steps and was now facing him down just like all the others. "I was going to slay her for it."

"Why?"

"Because he thought you were Aizen." Gin Ichimaru said, strolling forwards without a care in the world. It did not escape notice that he was the only individual present aside from Ichigo who had not drawn his sword, but if he noticed the horrific energies that boiled the air around him as he picked his way through dozens of angry spirits, it didn't show on his face. "Don't know if ya all ever noticed it, but Aizen had this habit of not defending himself from direct attacks. Now, part of that was because he had an ego the size of a small planet, and therefore figured that no one could actually hurt him," Gin paused for a moment to chuckle cruelly to himself, and Ichigo had the distinct impression that he was remembering the expression on his old master's face at the end of it all, "But mostly it was because he always had a well trained minion or two nearby to take care of that for him."

He gestured to Ulquiorra with one thin and pale hand, still smiling. "Now, when I wasn't around, or didn't feel like it, that job usually fell to Ulquiorra here. He's strong enough to handle most threats, fast enough to intercept them in time, and loyal enough not to just let himself catch them a little, ah, late." Gin turned his gaze to Ichigo, and with a quick flick of his fingers drew attention to the way that Zangetsu still rested in its sheath at the boy's side. "So, when our dear Espada here sees a Lieutenant taking a swing at his new boss, who doesn't draw his sword and, in fact, avoids the blow, well… old habits an' all that. Thus endeth the lesson."

With that, the silver haired captain tucked his hands back inside his sleeves and beamed at them all, clearly pleased as he felt the near-overwhelming force of all the spiritual energy in the air start to recede. Nobody lowered their swords just yet, but it no longer felt as though they'd start hacking away at each other at a moment's notice. Excepting, of course, Kenpachi and Grimmjow, but no one on either side was entirely surprised by that. Ichigo breathed a silent sigh of relief, before turning back to Ulquiorra, who had continued to wait patiently for the entire course of the lecture. The Espada saw his attention shifting, and nodded slightly.

"Though I dislike being referred to as a minion, the Soul Reaper is broadly correct." He said blandly, as though he'd been accused of kowtowing rather than attempted murder. For a long moment, he remained silent, before realising that something more was evidently required. "My compliments on your fast reactions, Captain." He said calmly to Byakuya, who merely narrowed his eyes in response.

Near the centre of the group, the elderly form of the Captain-Commander Yamamoto cleared his throat harshly. One by one, everyone present turned to face him, Byakuya last of all. "The explanation brings up a question that must be addressed." He said gravely, staring at Ichigo. "We had questioned your presence here, in such company. It was thought that you were perhaps being held hostage. Are we to understand that that is not, in fact, the situation?"

Ichigo smiled faintly, reaching up one hand to scratch at the back of his head as he worked out how exactly he was going to phrase this. In the end, he settled for the truth. "Yeah. They've actually, uh… sworn allegiance to me."

For a long moment, everything was silent, save for the faint sound of skittering as the stiff wind, still agitated by the enormous pressures being placed upon it, picked up lose pieces of mud and threw them around. It was Byakuya who eventually spoke, his long years of practice at remaining composed in all situations enabling him to get over the shock the fastest. "Are you telling me," he said slowly, just in case the boy was, perhaps, telling a ridiculously un-amusing joke, "That five Arrancar – including, if I am not mistaken, the Primera Espada – and a traitor Captain have suddenly decided to become loyal to you in place of Aizen?"

Gin coughed slightly. "Hey, not all of us were all that loyal, really." He objected, in a soft voice that still had the threat of something indescribably hideous beneath it. "That aside, it ain't really all that surprising, ya know. Las Noches is nice as a holiday destination, less so as a home, an' this was about the only way we had of coming back here without getting spitted on a zanpaktou."

Soifon chose to respond to that one, eyes narrow and sword still held tightly in her small fist. "What's to stop us from killing you all here and now?"

Grimmjow grinned at her like a feral beast, pleased at the way she bristled and brought her sword up. There was a sense of strong satisfaction in his tone as he answered the question, while the other Arrancar looked on in mild amusement. "Because we gave Ichigo back his powers," he said with relish, "and now he could beat any of you useless bastards with a hand tied behind his back."

Zaraki didn't waste a moment, his already enthusiastic smile becoming positively ecstatic upon hearing the words. Before anyone else could respond to the claim, he raised his sword and pointed it at Ichigo. "Show us." He demanded, the air around him burning with his reiatsu as his control – mediocre at the best of times – slipped in the face of his enthusiasm. "And dibs."

888

Everyone else had backed off to form a loose gathering roughly twenty or so metres away, the two factions remaining obvious by the way they kept a wary distance from one another. They knew from experience that closer to Kenpachi Zaraki when he fought was liable to end only in personal injury, but none present wanted to miss what was about to happen. Even Kurotsuchi looked interested, having started dictating notes into a small recording device that his lieutenant had produced from apparently nowhere. In the back of his mind, he idly considered selling copies of the recordings later – he always needed funds for his experiments, and it would be easy to alter the official book keeping from such a sale to conceal just how much it had been worth. Unofficial funding made it much easier to keep certain activities away from the prying eyes of distrusting superiors, after all.

Ichigo stood calmly in the centre of the hill, holding Tensa Zangetsu in one hand and waiting patiently for Kenpachi to begin. He'd have preferred to avoid a fight, but he knew that after Grimmjow's declaration there was no real way of backing down without appearing weak in front of the assembled officers. And if they thought he was weak, they might well try something against his new subordinates. Even though the word still felt somewhat strange and unwelcome in his mind, he couldn't allow that to happen.

Kenpachi Zaraki, meanwhile, was positively gleeful. The mission to Las Noches had been the last time that he'd actually managed to find a fight worth talking about, and that had been over a year and a half ago. And now Ichigo, perhaps one of his favourite sparring partners, had returned to what they claimed was peak strength. More than that, he'd returned with a whole bunch of powerful allies, and at the very least Zaraki was sure that the one with violent blue hair would be willing to give him a proper fight whenever he damn well wanted. Yes, the future was most definitely looking up.

"Is it just me, or have you gotten stronger while I've been gone?" Ichigo asked, an expression of mild surprise on his face. "I can't hear your sword anymore. It used to scream."

Zaraki nodded, the bells in his hair jingling faintly as he did so. He held up his sword in one meaty fist and showed its edge to his opponent. Ichigo couldn't help but notice the difference. The last time he'd seen the captain, the edge of the blade had been jagged and uneven, eroded from years of careless abuse. Now, though, it was pristine and gleaming in the light and the edge was so sharp it almost seemed to cut the air itself.

"Yeah, I reckon I have." Zaraki said, his voice a harsh growl. "Listened to what you said to me, the last time, 'bout Zanpaktou and everything. Figured I'd give it a try. Stubborn thing still won't tell me what its name is, but we've managed to get to speaking terms at least. Well, sort of."

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'sort of'?"

"Well, it's mostly insults and the like." Zaraki said with a faint grimace. His sword had evidently not been best pleased with his treatment of it over the years, and once he had finally managed to perceive the words, had made that abundantly clear with a barrage of acidic comments and vicious insults that could probably curdle milk. It had been three days before it had agreed to stop long enough for the increasingly weary captain to actually get some sleep. Dismissing the thought, he indicated the white Haori that Ichigo was wearing. "That looks good on you. You take it off his corpse?"

Ichigo frowned and shook his head. "Nah, Ichimaru did. No idea why."

Zaraki nodded, oddly solemn. "It's a good idea. There's nothing like a trophy to remind everyone what you're worth. And I doubt there's anyone around here who won't recognise that coat." He grinned suddenly, dispelling the serious attitude. "If they don't give you a Division, the Eleventh will have you. Won't even make you go to school first or nothing."

Ichigo grinned, and then raised his sword. "Hah. I might just take you up on that. Now, come on, let's not keep them all waiting."

Zaraki looked him over for a moment. Then, carefully, he reached up and pulled the bells from his hair, letting them tinkle to the ground one by one, before ripping his eye patch free and flinging it off to one side. As the suppressor was removed, an aura of roaring yellow energy seemed to burst into existence all around him, illuminating the ground for hundreds of metres around and casting long shadows at the feet of those observing. Ichigo barely reacted, save for narrowing his eyes just slightly, as though squinting at the sun. Then, with a savage smile on his face, Zaraki attacked.

The first strike was a long, overhead blow that descended towards Ichigo's head with all the force of an avalanche. With a casual gesture, he raised Tensa Zangetsu up into a blocking position, and then placed his other hand against the flat of the blade further along its length as a brace. The impact threw out shockwaves that that made the air shake and the ground itself ripple as though in the midst of an earthquake. Ichigo didn't move, not even bended his arms as they held Zangetsu above his head in the blocking position. He smiled at the look of faint surprise in the yellow eyes that peered down at him, then stepped backwards, allowing Zaraki's sword to scrap down the edge of Tensa Zangetsu before coming free.

He gave Zaraki a moment to raise his sword into a guard position, and then counter-attacked. Tensa Zangetsu arrowed forwards, stabbing at Zaraki's broad chest, the obsidian blade seeming to drink in the light until it was almost as though he fought with a weapon of pure darkness. Kenpachi swayed aside, narrowly dodging the strike, and the three that followed it as Ichigo pressed him back across the barren hilltop. Then, with a grin, he reached out and caught Ichigo's forearm as the Vizard went for him a fifth time, holding it there with a grip like iron.

"You shouldn't repeat your attacks." He said with a wide grin, and then with his free hand, swung his sword in a devastating arc. It hit Ichigo in the side like a freight train, and… stopped. Zaraki felt his eyes widen in surprise as looked at the point of impact in uncomprehending shock. A split second later, Ichigo released his hold on the hilt of Zangetsu and grabbed Zaraki's forearm with his suddenly free hand. For a moment, it looked as though they were exchanging a solid handshake, before Ichigo pivoted smoothly on one heel and threw the huge man bodily through the air.

888

Mayuri saw the incoming projectile and took a few steps sideways to avoid it. Zaraki hit the ground a few metres away and slid to a halt in the midst of the group, the force of the throw combining with the burning aura of his reiatsu to dig a long trench in the hard stone of the hilltop. Zaraki grunted slightly, then picked himself up and threw himself back towards his waiting opponent, roaring.

"Fascinating." Mayuri said, watching the ongoing confrontation while Nemu waited dutifully nearby, holding up the recording device. "Despite a complete lack of observable spiritual pressure, subject B remains capable of deflecting the blows of the Eleventh Captain without any visible physical strain. Previous studies indicate this is unlikely to the point of being impossible, especially since observable evidence seems to suggest that his Zanpaktou is in a Bankai state."

The scientist tapped his fingers to his chin in a steady rhythm for a moment, his enhanced brain turning through a dozen different hypotheses in quick succession. He needed more than visual observations to confirm any of them, and a moment's thought turned up the best source for more data.

"Captain Kuchiki, you have fought with against the subject Ichigo Kurosaki before, yes? In Bankai state?" The nobleman looked at him for a moment, clearly surprised by the eager nature of the query, before inclining his head in confirmation. "Did you observe enough to determine what the properties of his Bankai were?"

The Sixth Captain paused for a moment to consider his answer, aware of how more than a few of his colleagues had torn their gazes away from the fight to pay attention as well. "I believe that his Bankai, Tensa Zangetsu, magnifies and compresses his spiritual energy." He said slowly, watching the impending fight. Kurosaki had been forced back on the defensive, fending off a vicious series of horizontal slashes that threatened to disembowel him. Each time the two swords met, the force of their impact sent out shockwaves that caused the ground underneath them to shiver violently. "When I fought him, the primary side effect of this ability was to increase his physical speed. That was inside of twelve hours from him obtaining Bankai."

Kurosutchi found himself smiling broadly, yellowing teeth exposed to the air as he factored in the new data. He turned back to the fight eagerly, delighted to find that the offered explanation tallied up wonderfully with the observable events. "Excellent. I would hypothesise that Ichigo Kurosaki has managed to fully master the abilities of his Bankai, in addition to significantly increasing his overall levels of reiatsu since that time. His power is now fully contained within his body and sword, explaining the lack of observable energy. The pressure differential created would also explain why Zaraki's sword does not appear able to cut him – the barbarian's power is too scattered and undisciplined, despite its size. A more focused approach would be required…"

The scientist's observations trailed off as, on the hilltop in front of them, Ichigo suddenly seemed to blur and vanish from sight. Zaraki, suddenly left without a visible opponent, looked confused for a brief moment, and then staggered back as a bright fountain of blood erupted from his right shoulder. The scarlet liquid seemed to hang in the air, before swiftly being joined by a second spurt, this time emerging from his left arm.

The Eleventh captain twitched and thrashed on the spot, more and more cuts opening up all over his body as the onlookers watched in stunned amazement. Ten, twenty, more, all of them appearing seemingly out of nowhere to mark his broad frame with dozens of crossed lines that wept blood. His haori, already torn raggedly at the shoulders, shredded completely apart under the punishment, the remaining shreds rapidly turning dark red as the blood splashed against them. Byakuya recognised the effect instantly – the rapid and devastating pattern of injuries caused by a swarm of endless blades was one intimately familiar to him.

With a faint flicker, Ichigo slowed back down into visibility again, trailing a string of afterimages behind him. He came to a stop behind the torn, bleeding form of Kenpachi Zaraki, his haori billowing in the gale force winds his movements had whipped up. Despite the violence, there didn't appear to be a single bloodstain on its pristine white surface.

Slowly, like a toppled tree, Kenpachi Zaraki fell to his knees and slumped over, sword clattering from his hand.

**A/N – And there we go. This chapter clocks in at over just about over three thousand, eight hundred words, written in under… *checks clock* nine hours. It is, I think, the longest chapter thus far, and contains the first proper fight scene. Not by any means the last fight scene, though… after all, Kenpachi Zaraki is going to want a rematch. Just as soon as he gets to know his sword a bit better…**

**Anyway. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you again soon. *waves, then vanishes to go do some of that paperwork nonsense***


	9. Chapter 8  Sword release

**A/N – And all is right with the world once more. I have a sneaking suspicion that the staff here are as irritated with the new paperwork as I am, given that they immediately reversed the error once I asked them about it. **

**This chapter was written from the hour of 5 a.m on a Saturday morning. I really need to adopt a vaguely reasonable sleeping schedule.**

888

_You are pathetic._

The voice was like nothing he had ever heard before. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure it was a voice at all. It rumbled around the barren hilltop like the anger of a wrathful god given form, shaking the rocks themselves until they shivered and quaked in their fear. It was the roar of the inferno, the clash of steel upon steel, a death rattle from a thousand ruined throats. It was all of these and yet none of them, for the voice of sword was the voice of destruction incarnate, and something so pure, so _primal, _could not be so neatly defined.

Kenpachi Zaraki had lived a long and violent life, and in all of his years, no one had ever insulted him like that and lived to tell of it. Unfortunately, right now he was too busy bleeding rapidly to death to do much more than lie there and glare at the sword clenched in his fist. He wasn't a healer, but he'd learned enough about violent injuries through first hand experience to recognise that his own were mortal. The kid had sliced straight through at least three separate arteries in that final flurry of blows, and not even the demon of Zaraki could survive for very long with wounds like those.

_You didn't even scratch him. And you dare to call yourself 'Kenpachi'._

The captain of the eleventh coughed wetly, then gritted his teeth and forced his voice to work. "Yeah, I do." He paused long enough to spit out a mouthful of his own blood, staining his teeth scarlet, and then tightened his fist around the hilt of his sword once more. "That's my name."

_Fool. You do not have a name. 'Kenpachi Zaraki' – the greatest, most violent warrior from the most savage and violent district of the rukongai. That is the title that you have claimed, but it is not your name. You do not have a name._

It was true, he realised. He'd claimed that title the same day that he'd named Yachiru, and when people had started using it like his name, it hadn't occurred to him to correct them. And after he'd proven his right to it by killing the previous Kenpachi, people had started calling him 'Captain', and he hadn't denied that one either. But before that, before everything else, he'd been nameless – the demon of Zaraki, reckoned by those around him to be a force of nature more than a person. He couldn't remember much of those days – nothing remained in his memory from back then beyond the deep scarlet of blood and the sound of steel biting into flesh.

_I was your sword then_, his zanpaktou continued, and somehow its voice managed to be soft and quiet. There was no peace in the tone, though, just the cold finality of death. _Nothing more, and nothing less. I was your sword, and for everyone who ever thought to face us, that made me death incarnate. Together, we carved a bloody wound in the world itself, one that will endure until the world ends. Then you lost your way. You stopped listening to me, convinced yourself that it was only your own strength that you could rely on. Well, look where that got you._

For a long moment, Kenpachi stayed silent. He remembered the first time that he'd fought against Ichigo, when he'd claimed that zanpaktou were just tools, that those who relied upon another's strength deserved to die for being so weak. The kid had beaten him then as well, shown him just how wrong he'd been. And now, he was doing it again. Fuck that.

Kenpachi looked down at his sword once more, and this time, his voice was quiet and honest. "What's your name?"

_You don't have a name. Why, then, would I?_

888

The world went white.

Ichigo had been walking away from the defeated body of the Eleventh captain, but as the colours drained from the world around him and the air whipped itself into a howling gale, he stopped and smiled. It wasn't something that he'd ever really acknowledged publicly, but all the same, he'd long ago realised that he and Kenpachi Zaraki could be remarkably similar to one another at times. Regardless of the difference in their motives, they both loved to fight, and they both hated to lose. It had taken being stabbed through the chest before Ichigo had learned to work with Zangetsu in his fights, so he'd decided to see whether the same would hold true for Kenpachi. And now, turning to face his opponent once more as the earth shivered and the air filled with the sound of screams, it appeared that he'd been proven correct.

Kenpachi had risen to his feet, even though the horrendous wounds that he had suffered should have made such a feat impossible. Beads of blood still dripped from the dozens of jagged cuts that covered his body, defying gravity in order to float gently in midair, forming a scarlet halo that pulsed with spiritual energy. Static electricity crackled down the length of the gleaming sword in his hand, crackling bolts snapping out to lash at the abused ground underfoot, every impact kicking up a dozen miniscule shards of razor sharp rock. The sheer force of his reiatsu was overwhelming to the point where it almost hurt to look upon, as though a living star had descended to the earth to do battle, and the air screamed with the pain of containing such a violent eruption of energy.

Ichigo couldn't help it. He threw back his head and laughed, the echoing tone of his inner hollow filling the sound with a coldly gleeful malevolence. The energy that saturated the air all around them was almost beyond comprehension. It filled his mind with thoughts of battle and slaughter, and set his blood aflame with the sheer joy of murder. A mad grin on his face, Ichigo faced down the terrifying apparition and levelled his sword at it in obvious challenge.

"That's more like it, Kenpachi!" he howled, his soul exulting with the prospect of a truly dangerous fight. In the very back of his mind, he wondered why the thought of facing such an opponent filled him with such joy. He hadn't always been this bloodthirsty, had he? There was clearly something wrong with him, but right then, he honestly could not bring himself to care. With a roar, he threw himself forwards, Tensa Zagetsu slicing through the air as Kenpachi Zaraki charged to meet him.

They had barely taken five steps when the world exploded into fire. Ichigo slid to a halt, cursing, as a curtain of burning flames sprang into existence between him and his opponent. He could hear Kenpachi snarling in frustration on the other side, but despite the fact that every fibre of his body was calling out for him to just charge on through the flames and keep fighting, he restrained himself. This was no ordinary fire, he could tell that at a glance, and he could think of only one person who had both the power and the will to intervene in this fight.

Sure enough, Captain-Commander Yamamoto came striding out of the fire a few moments later, the wooden staff that he habitually carried replaced now by a gleaming katana that seemed to be forged from liquid flame. His haori flapped wildly in the wind generated whenever powerful shinigami let lose their power, and the wild movement made it painfully obvious that his left arm was missing below the shoulder. Even so, he seemed to radiate such a powerful aura of command that Ichigo found himself straightening up almost instinctively, and it was only his personal distaste for such blatant authority figures that prevented him from actually saluting.

"Stand down, both of you." Yamamoto growled. "If you fight here, you will destroy half of Seireitei."

"Then we'll go elsewhere." Kenpachi replied from somewhere beyond the fire, his voice so utterly filled with killing intent that Ichigo shuddered slightly to hear it, even as he nodded in assent. He'd moved his fight with Aizen for the sake of bystanders, after all – it would just be childish to refuse to do so here.

"You will not." Yamamoto said, ignoring the way that both of the combatants let out animal snarls at the decree. "Captain Zaraki, you will restrain your power immediately and proceed to the 4th division for medical treatment. Ichigo Kurosaki, you will take your _subordinates _and barrack yourselves in the 11th division grounds until further notice."

The air filled with the buzzing of sonido, and suddenly the Espada materialised around Ichigo, seemingly uncaring of the waves of burning heat that washed over them. Each and every one of them had their swords drawn, even Stark, and Ichigo couldn't help but blink in surprise. He looked sideways at the ever-smiling figure of Gin Ichimaru, who winked slightly at him as Stark addressed the captain-commander in a dry voice.

"It might be just me, but that sounded quite a lot like an order, Captain-san." He said with a truly astounding level of detachment. "I think we should probably make this clear now. We don't take orders from you, and we really don't appreciate you trying to boss Ichigo around."

Next to him, Grimmjow smirked. "Yeah, that. Plus, you're breaking up a good fight here." He sounded entirely willing to respond to the offence with violence, though he must have known that it would be all but suicidal.

Yamamoto looked over the group of Espada and renegades that were so obviously defying him, and his eyes narrowed. Something indescribable flickered in their depths, before he responded with a single sentence, the words chosen with the greatest of care.

"Your sisters are in Seireitei."

It took approximately two seconds for the possible implications of that statement to register with Ichigo. Half a second after that, execution hill began to collapse under the strain as four Espada and an ex-captain released their swords.


	10. Chapter 9 Political Considerations

It happened extremely quickly. One moment, the very rock of Execution Hill was quaking and disintegrating under the raw power of half a dozen released soul cutters, while the air itself seemed to thicken and condense in the lungs of anyone unfortunate enough to be within a few hundred metres. In the next, the thrumming sounds of flash step and sonido reverberated around the barren hilltop, as though someone plucked at twenty different strings in sequence. Half a second after that, and of the various assorted renegades that had been facing down Captain-Commander Yamamoto, only Gin Ichimaru was left, his silver hair flapping wildly in the breeze left by the rapid pressure changes. His arms were still tucked inside the long sleeves of his haori, deliberately removed from his weapon, and his mouth was still curled into his characteristic smile, but there was something about the way he stood that immediately told you that he found the current situation anything but funny.

"Ya know," he said at length, regarding Yamamoto through half closed eyes, "All things considered, that might have been the absolute _worst _thing ya could have said."

A few metres away, Rukia was taking a series of deep breaths in order to recover from the sheer force of spiritual pressure that the barely-averted confrontation had unleashed. Considerable experience with fighting at the side of Ichigo, combined with her own naturally stubborn nature, had allowed her to keep her feet in the face of it, but even so the crushing weight of it had nearly made her black out. Her elder brother stood at her side, one hand resting on her shoulder in a gesture that conveyed a wealth of support and reassurance in his typical wordless fashion. Byakuya's gaze, however, was fixed on Yamamoto, and while his face was as stoic and expressionless as ever, a careful observer might perhaps be able to read the faintest traces of disapproval there.

The Captain-Commander glowered at Ichimaru, one gnarled fist closed tightly around the hilt of his sword. He hadn't drawn it yet, and with the sudden departure of most of his potential opponents he had allowed the aura of flames to die away, but even so he still radiated menace as he stared down the silver-haired traitor. "Explain yourself."

Ichimaru sighed slightly and shook his head in pitying fashion. When he spoke, his words were carefully enunciated and slow, as though he was speaking to a rather dim witted child. "Ya threatened his sisters. Really, what did ya think he was going to do?"

"I did no such thing." Yamamoto retorted angrily, though whether his ire was in response to the accusation or the mocking way in which it had been delivered was impossible to tell. Despite the emotion colouring his voice, it was quite obvious to those watching that his words were intending for them as much as Ichimaru. "The boy is inexperienced. It does not surprise me that he would misinterpret a statement in such a manner."

Off to one side, Kyoraku lowered his hand from his head, where it had been firmly holding his hat in place. He'd lost his favourite pink kimono to the howling winds, and the jars of sake that he'd been sharing with the Primera shortly before it all fell apart had been blown over and shattered on the unforgiving ground, but it would have taken rather more than that to make him surrender his hat. "You know, I just noticed, but dear old Isshin seems to have vanished as well." He said, in the casual fashion of one remarking on a mildly interesting development.

"So he has. I suppose he must have misinterpreted the situation as well. Shame, really." Ukitake put it, smiling pleasantly. There wasn't the slightest hint of implication or resentment in his calm voice, but it didn't matter. Isshin Kurosaki, whatever his faults, was most definitely not the sort of man one could call inexperienced, especially when it came to Yamamoto. It was a fact that none who had ever spoken to him could ever deny, and given the way Yamamoto glanced at two of his oldest students it was apparent that point was not lost on him. Slowly, he looked around at the other officers gathered there on the hilltop, weighing up their attitudes with the ease of a man who has centuries of experience behind him.

Lieutenants Kira and Matsumoto were standing side by side, their faces schooled in expressions of perfect neutrality as they waited for their superiors to come to a decision. Their body language betrayed them, however – both of them had unconsciously positioned themselves facing down their theoretical superior, and the Commander realised that it was quite possible that the only reason they were both still there was because Ichimaru had yet to leave. That was not entirely unexpected, given their personal history with the man, but it was somewhat concerning all the same how easily they had apparently forgiven him for his treachery.

The real surprise was Captain Hitsugaya, who had not only visibly positioned himself in support of the departed renegades, but had actually gone so far as to draw his sword. He wasn't turning it against anybody in particular, simply holding it in a standard ready position at his side, but he hadn't returned it to its sheath either. Nor did he have any intention to do so anytime soon, given the look of steely resolve in his eyes, not even when Soifon realised what he was doing and slid her own sword halfway out of its sheathe in response. At the very least, the slender commander of the Stealth Force still remembered where her loyalties lay.

Lieutenants Kuchiki and Nanao, however, had both previously shown a willingness to disregard his instructions – and in the latter case, actually oppose him directly – based on what was apparently a superior loyalty to their Captains and friends. He did not expect the case to be any different here, though the two women were at the least professional enough to render their body language completely unreadable to even him. Hisagi and Captain Kurotsuchi were likewise uncommitted to either side, though in Kurotsuchi's case it wasn't so much indecisiveness as just complete indifference.

He didn't even have to look at Zaraki to judge his mood – the head captain could feel the buffeting waves of hostile intent crashing against his back, though they had dimmed somewhat in the last few moments as the barbaric captain restored his limiter. Unohana was tending to his wounds, but her reiatsu control was fine enough to leave him in the dark about her mood, and he couldn't turn to gain a visual conformation without undermining his own authority.

With a sinking feeling, Yamamoto considered just how precarious his situation was. For one reason or another, the majority of the Gotei high command would resist any action he attempted to take against the Kurosaki family, who themselves had apparently acquired the services of a number of extremely powerful Arrancar. And yet, if the government of Soul Society, and by extension the Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13 wanted to retain any degree of authority, he could not simply leave such a powerful group of spirit entities running around completely independent of any control. _Especially _if they continued to make visible displays of defiance.

Just to cap everything off, Ichimaru had clearly realised exactly how awkward the Commander's political situation was, and judging by the massive smile on his face he was enjoying every minute of it.

It was at this point that Byakuya Kuchiki chose to speak, his voice perfectly polite and steady. "If I may, Commander, I believe I have a solution to the current dilemma." He paused for a moment, waiting to make sure that everyone was paying attention. "Allow the boy to keep the rank he claimed by right of combat, and incorporate his associates into the rank structure as a specialist sub division. There is precedent."

There was silence for a long moment as the various individuals present turned over the proposal. Unsurprisingly, it was Soifon who first caught the reference. "You are speaking of the Stealth Force." She said, frowning slightly at the comparison between her own unit and the hollows.

Byakuya inclined his head to her in acknowledgement. "The Stealth Force is certainly the closest analogue, given its close integration with the Second Division, though the Kidou Corps could also qualify in principle. I do not believe that Kurosaki or his companions will accept a subordinate position, but designating them as an allied organisation should be suitable to all parties."

Gin regarded the noble captain for a moment, and without the slightest change in his facial expression managed to shift his visible attitude from 'amused contempt' to genuinely intrigued. "Tha's a very, ah, _political_ solution, Kuchiki-san. I'm impressed. Though given the recent, ah, misunderstanding" he shot a wry look at Yamamoto, "Why 'zactly would we – meaning Ichigo – want to join the Gotei in any form? He's never been much of one for working with those that threaten his loved ones."

It was, strangely enough, Hitsugaya who responded to that one. "His sister, Karin. She has expressed interest in becoming a Soul Reaper." He said slowly, obviously somewhat reluctant to disclose the information. "If she does, the only way he could feasibly spend any deal of time with her would be to accept the position. Outsiders are not generally allowed into Seireitei, and he probably won't be able to bring himself to either deny Karin control of her own future or consent to her being too far away for him to protect if she needs it."

"He certainly has a long history of protecting his, ah, loved ones - Even over their own objections." Kyoraku chimed in, glancing at Rukia with a broad smile on his face as he added the last part. The newly minted Lieutenant, for her part, simply returned the look with a cool disdain that might have been a perfect copy of her older brother. Chuckling, Shunsui turned back to Hitsugaya. "Though I am a little curious as to how it is that Karin-chan felt comfortable telling you about her dreams for the future and all that."

Hitsugaya ignored the older captain and his insinuations with an ease born of long practice, though he couldn't quite help the sense of impending doom he got when he spotted the devilish smile on Matsumoto's face. He just really, really hoped that the inevitable rumours didn't get back to Ichigo. The substitute was not the most rational person when it came to sisters, and older brothers were already hard enough to deal with when they _couldn't _level mountains with a single swing of their sword.

That hope died a horrible, strangled death when Gin Ichimaru smiled at him, bowed to the assembled company with what seemed like unnecessary flourish, and vanished from the hilltop in the flicker of flash-step.


	11. Chapter 10 Family

**A/N – As always, this chapter is being written at an absurd hour. In this particular case, it is now midnight as I start writing. Apparently, I have a nocturnal muse. Still, she apparently gets the job done, given the… *counts*… 93 Favourites and 103 Story Alerts. Always nice to be appreciated, though I fear my ego shall soon grow to unmanageable proportions. Ah well.**

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It was a well known fact that Ichigo Kurosaki was not the most subtle of individuals. Likewise, anyone who knew his name was aware that he possessed a protective instinct to rival that of a mother bear. The combination of the two traits predictably led to him responding with something approaching excessive force to anything that might possibly be perceived as a threat to those he cared about – a trait that his foes had, in the past, exploited with a worrying frequency. What was less well known, however, was that this behaviour was inherited.

It was just unfortunate for Ikkaku Madarame that he was the first one to sense the spiritual pressure rapidly approaching the main entrance of the Eleventh Division. It was approaching from Execution Hill, where he had just moments ago sensed the raw burning hurricane of energy that was his captain in a fight. It made perfect sense for him, then, to assume that the approaching individuals were enemies, and therefore no one could fault him on his decision to draw his sword and head for the entrance. Indeed, given that evidence suggested his captain had not been sufficient force to hold back whatever was approaching, Ikkaku's unflinching resolve could well be thought of as praise worthy. Unfortunately, the approaching energy belonged to an exceptionally angry Isshin Kurosaki, and he did not react well to finding an armed Soul Reaper standing between him and his daughters.

5th Seat Yumichika was in the process of mustering the unranked reapers under his command into something resembling a defensive formation when the wall of the interior courtyard disintegrated into a cloud of flying splinters under the force of Ikkaku's hurtling body. The battered officer hit the ground and eventually rolled to a halt in the middle of his startled comrades in what could only be described as an ugly fashion. Yumichika took one look at the semi-comatose body, then drew his sword and charged into the billowing clouds of dirt with a vengeful yell. His subordinates followed suit with eager roars, hurling themselves towards a foe they knew was unquestionably stronger than any of them without the slightest hint of fear or hesitation. Fortunately for them, by the time they actually reached their enemy Isshin had altered his course, following the unmistakable trace of Yuzu's soul towards the eastern section of the division. As a result, they ran headfirst into Ichigo instead, and he at least had enough presence of mind to restrain the force of his blows.

Angry though he was, the Substitute was still in control of his emotions enough to recognise the bewildered and entirely innocent expression of shock on Yumichika's face when the 5th seat finally spotted him. So instead of ripping the attacking Death Gods limb from limb, he contented himself with simply grabbing the first of them by the front of his robes and giving him a light toss backwards. Of course, only he knew that the throw had been relatively soft; all the Soul Reapers saw was him casually throwing one of their own men back through the rest of the charging division with enough force to completely bowl them from their feet. Ichigo blinked in mild surprise at the sight of a dozen armed fighters falling over each other like so many bowling pins, then turned to regard Yumichika with cold and unforgiving eyes.

"Where is Karin?" he asked, voice deceptively mild. The 5th seat was not a stupid man – it was quite apparent that the figure before him was both entirely capable and willing to tear the entire division apart piece by piece if that was what it took to recover his sisters. And he had a sneaking suspicion that whilst he might survive a confrontation here, the results would most definitely not be even remotely beautiful. So he simply sheathed his sword and, with perfect composure, indicated the long train of training rooms on the far side of the square.

He maintained that composure as Ichigo swept by him, even though the site of the white haori around his shoulders ignited an absolute deluge of questions in his mind. It was only when he spotted the pair of figures walking a few steps behind Ichigo that his mask shattered and he allowed himself to gawp. Only a little, though – he still had standards to maintain.

The first was a tall man with shoulder length brown hair and a white coat edged with what appeared to be genuine wolf fur. An elegant eye patch was secured over his left eye with thin golden chains, and in each hand he carried a pair of truly beautiful pistols. He strolled through the wreckage with such a disarmingly casual air that one couldn't help but be thrown off by it. Coyote Stark – it couldn't be anyone else, Yumichika thought, though what exactly the presumed-dead Espada was doing here was beyond him – gave him a friendly nod as he passed by, as though the two of them had simply crossed paths in the middle of an afternoon stroll, as opposed to running into each other in the middle of what was rapidly starting to look like a battlefield.

The second figure, in sharp contrast to Ichigo's commanding stride and Stark's casual stroll, prowled in through the breach in the wall with a feline grace. The description was surprisingly appropriate, Yumichika admitted to himself, taking in the wickedly sharp claws and flowing mane of hair that adorned the Arrancar. Even the way in which his skin had apparently hardened to form a layer of segmented armour over his crouched form didn't seem to impede his natural elegance, though the whole image was still a bit too… feral to qualify for true beauty. This one didn't even acknowledge him as it passed, and despite himself Yumichika found himself bristling at the implied insult in the dismissal. Still, retribution could wait until after he'd worked out what exactly was going on here. He hadn't missed the fact that the haori adorning Ichigo's shoulders was the one that Aizen had once worn, and now he had apparently invaded Soul Society with at least one Espada at his back.

Ichigo, meanwhile, reached the indicated set of training rooms with only the slightest of inconveniences – namely, having to step over Ikkaku's sprawled body. He could feel his sister's energy inside one of the rooms, along with a second presence that he didn't recognise, and in his haste he all but tore the flimsy wooden door from its mounting. His state of distracted agitation was likely also the reason why he didn't spot the blur of movement in the room until after the curled fist slammed into his solar plexus with bone breaking force. Had he been anyone else, the perfectly aimed blow would have left him choking and helpless on the floor for a good few minutes at the minimum. As it was, he merely grunted in surprise, feeling a smile break out on his face as he recognised the attacker.

"Hey, Tatsuki." He said, and watched as her eyes widened in utter shock. She'd taken to wearing her hair longer over the past year, and now it reached almost halfway down her back, held in place only by a simple band that tied it into a rough ponytail. Beyond that, though, she was still the same person he had known for most of his life – his oldest, if not necessarily closest friend. He couldn't help but be happy to see her, even though it was almost completely unexpected. "What're you doing in Soul Society?"

Tatsuki took a step back, her shock quickly replaced by a kind of confused anger. "Me? What the hell are YOU doing here? You're _dead_, or at least you were, and then you just come walking through the door like nothing's wrong… I don't even…"

A bit further back in the room, Karin snorted in amusement as Tatsuki trailed off, stepping neatly in to actually answer the question. "She's here because she was with Orihime when the Soul Reapers turned up to take us all to Soul Society. From what I hear, she had them pinned to the ground and crying in pain until they agreed to take her too." She said with a grin. "It's nice to see you again, Ichigo. I figured it was only a matter of time before you showed up."

Ichigo blinked in surprise. "What does that mean? It's not like winding up dead is something you shrug off, you know. How'd you guess that I'd be OK?"

Karin smiled at him, and beneath the cocky attitude there was an undercurrent of genuine fondness. You might call it love, if you didn't mind the tomboy knocking you through a wall shortly afterwards. "I know you, Ichigo. You promised to protect us, and I didn't really expect a little thing like getting murdered to actually stop you. You're too thick headed for that."

He smiled back at her, "Of course not. You'd be absolutely helpless without me." He said in an entirely sincere tone of voice. She was his sister, after all, and she'd never let him get away with actually saying any of the sappy things underlying their exchange of friendly jabs. Then her earlier words finally sank in, and he felt his mood darken all of a sudden. "Wait, Orihime is here? Why'd Soul Society take her as well?"

Karin nodded. "She and Chad are here somewhere. I think they even brought Ishida along, though I have no idea how they managed to convince him. In any case, I don't think they were supposed to. Kenpachi said his orders were to bring us back with him, for our protection." She paused to glare momentarily at Ichigo. "Don't look like that! It was fair enough – we didn't know what had happened to you, and they couldn't find your soul anywhere, so they figured that maybe someone else would come after us next. Anyway, Kenpachi got his squad to bring your friends along as well… mentioned something about owing you that much."

"Ya keep saying Kenpachi." Grimmjow chimed in from the door, where he and Stark had been waiting patiently for the oh-so-touching reunion to conclude. "Isn't that getting a bit… what's it called… over-familiar? He's a Soul Reaper Captain, after all, even if he is my sort of guy."

Tatsuki glared at him. "He's been training us. That practically makes us members of the Eleventh in his mind." In response to the challenging stare, Grimmjow straightened up and gave her a smile that revealed far too many teeth. He might have been about to go a bit further, but Stark coughed quietly and looked at him until the violent Sexta backed down. For all his casual attitude and friendly demeanour, there was no doubting that Stark was every inch the Primera.

Ichigo, meanwhile, was still attempting to process the full implications of that last statement. Karin, his sister, had been undergoing combat training… with Kenpachi Zaraki. He knew he didn't have to worry about Tatsuki – the woman could and would quite happily put even the most psychotic of fighters in their place with little more than a glare and a quick gut punch. But Karin… actually, she'd probably do the same, but that wasn't the point.

"I am going to kill him after he gets out of the infirmary." Ichigo caught the way that Yumichika raised an eyebrow at the declaration. "It was a friendly spar. Unohana is very good… he'll be up and about in a few days."

"Sure about that, son?" Isshin said, appearing in the door behind him. "You're getting soft… fighting you used to put people out for weeks." Behind him stood Harribel and Ulquiorra, though at some point since their arrival at the Eleventh they had both apparently seen fit to seal away their swords again. Thankfully, neither of the Espada had any visible bloodstains about their person, which hopefully meant that Ichigo could avoid getting some murder charges involved in the already far-too-complicated mess. He had no idea just what sort of legal status his new... companions held here. Hell, for that matter, he still wasn't entirely sure what he should refer to them as.

At the very least it appeared that they were going to avoid any immediate bloodshed. He could feel Gin's energy signature – all sharp edges and merciless intent, hidden under a layer of soft humour – making its way towards them now, and beyond him the various other Captains appeared to be slowly dispersing back to their various Divisions. If nothing else that meant they were going to consider things at length, rather than immediately set out to exterminate them utterly. That gave him some hope…

His sombre thoughts about the current situation were cut off abruptly when Yuzu, who had previously been lurking out of sight behind Isshin, slammed into him with a hug that could almost crush bones. Instantly, Ichigo the War Hero vanished, and in his place was Ichigo the Brother, who could not allow himself to do anything else than hold his baby sister close and whisper wordless reassurances to her in a low voice as she shivered and cried. He caught sight of Karin rolling her eyes at the emotional display, but it really didn't matter to him. Yuzu was Yuzu, and as such she was exempt from the traditional rules of carefully hidden sibling affection.

He looked up at Grimmjow and Stark, and with faint smiles the two of them dropped their release states. It was strange, watching Lilynette reform from the aura of blue energy that Stark exuded during his transformation, and yet it was somehow less disturbing than the way Grimmjow's armour seemed to melt away back into his skin as his lower leg joints swivelled back around into a more human arrangement. Ichigo hid his faint unease and made a sharp nodding direction to the entrance of the Division, where they could now all feel Ichimaru waiting.

Stark inclined his head and vanished to see what the ex-Captain had to say, while the other Arrancar stepped out of the room to secure the perimeter. Tatsuki ducked out a moment later, muttering something about Orihime, leaving the family alone to work through their reunion.

It was a heart-warming scene, ruined only by Isshin's apparent inability to do anything without making some kind of grand declaration to Masaki's shade.


	12. Chapter 11 The observations of Espada

**A/N – New chapter, away! *dramatic pose***

"What do you think he would have done?"

Stark didn't reply for a long moment, far too focused on just lying back and soaking up the rays from the warm sun overhead. The grass was soft beneath his hands, the air was crisp and clean, and the straw hat he'd borrowed off Captain Kyoraku was tilted at just the right angle to keep the sunlight out of his eyes. Yes, overall he was very happy with his decision to follow Ichigo into the Soul Society – there was something about taking a nap in the sunlight that just couldn't be matched by anything he'd encountered in Hueco Mundo.

"About Yamamoto, you mean?" he finally answered, keeping his eyes closed so he couldn't see the expression on Kyoraku's face. The captain didn't respond, choosing instead to take another sip of his rather fine sake, but then he didn't really need to. It had been a week since their dramatic arrival into the Seireitei, and the tension had finally dropped away to the point where people were beginning to believe that the whole situation wouldn't suddenly explode into bloodshed at the drop of a hat. Even so, the problems had by no means gone away entirely, merely fallen quiet for now, and were Stark a worrying man he knew he would be gravely concerned about what the future might hold for them.

"Probably killed him, or at the very least had a good crack at it." The ex-Espada continued at length, finally opening his eyes to look at his drinking companion. Kyoraku didn't look remotely surprised by the conclusion, probably because he'd come to the same answer himself. Ichigo was, if nothing else, refreshingly direct about his method of problem solving. "What I'm wondering, though, is what everyone else would have done if he tried?"

Stark was not a stupid man. He knew perfectly well that had the Soul Reapers attacked them – or the other way around – on that hilltop, they would probably have won. Balance Ichigo and the Captain-Commander off against one another, preferably far away where no one else would get caught up in it, and the combined force of the gathered Captains was almost certainly enough to defeat the Espada. Oh, it would have been bloody and extremely messy, and he liked to think that the Soul Reapers would have lost more than a few of their forces, but even so the result would have been somewhat inevitable.

And yet… that wasn't what had happened. Somehow, the expected explosion of violence had not materialised, and a peace offering had taken its place. Stark knew enough about pack politics to recognise the signs of a divided enemy when he saw them – for some reason, had the matter escalated, Yamamoto had been under the impression that he wouldn't be able to count on the support of his supposed subordinates, and as a result he hadn't resisted when an alternative was offered. It was a definitive sign of weakness in the pack leader, and as much as Stark generally preferred to avoid fighting where he could, he was still Hollow enough to mark that weakness with something that was dangerously close to glee.

"Well, thanks to Byakuya, it seems we won't have to find out." Kyoraku said, avoiding the question with a practised ease that told Stark that he was perfectly aware of the implications. So, the laid back Captain was one of the ones whose loyalty was in question, then. The Primera made a mental note to tell Ichigo – the kid had told the Espada that they were free to go out and explore Seireitei if they wanted, even talk to some of the Soul Reapers if they thought it wouldn't lead to a fight. As far as Stark was concerned, that was essentially a tacit admission that the kid was intending to ingratiate himself within the structure of the Soul Society as a whole, and the only reason you joined a hostile pack was if you thought you had a shot at taking it over yourself. He wondered vaguely if his new leader was doing it consciously or not.

"Hmm. Seems your Kuchiki-san is doing everything he can to keep this whole thing calm and orderly." He commented, accepting the sake dish that Kyoraku passed to him. And wasn't that an interesting observation? Stark would never have pegged the restrained noble as a potential ally – everything about his manner spoke of a commitment to the established order that was as unshakeable as a rock. He wondered how Ichigo had managed that one – maybe the man's sister had something to do with it. You'd have to be blind to miss the way the two of them looked at each other when they thought they could get away with it… though once again he had a sneaking suspicion that the actual parties in question were completely oblivious to the reality of the situation.

Kyoraku didn't respond, but once again, he didn't really need to. Instead, he poured them both another measure of sake into the dishes, and sat back to watch the show with evident amusement. After all, it wasn't every day you got to see Jushiro Ukitake trying to teach a disbelieving child-hollow how to play hopscotch.

888

"What are you doing?"

Grimmjow looked up at the sound of the voice, then smiled and turned his attention back to the window across the street. "Nothing much. Just watching these two, who are doing… well, possibly each other."

Harribel frowned at the response, pacing across the slate tiled roof of the building until she was level with the Sixth Espada, who was sitting cross legged just out of the line of sight of anyone using the street below them. From here they had a perfect view across the street and into the window of the Tenth Division offices, where she could currently sense the spiritual pressure of the young white haired captain. A few moment's concentration and she spotted the second signature that Grimmjow had mentioned – less powerful, but fiery and passionate in a way that she thought she recognised.

"Is that… Kurosaki?" She asked, temporarily confused. But no, she could sense her lor…. _Ichigo_'s energy back at the division building that he'd claimed possession of. And yet, this lesser pressure was definitely similar to his…

"Yeah, but not the one you're thinking of." Grimmjow said with an evident air of satisfaction, gesturing for her to take a seat where she could see through the window as well. Curious, she did so, and found that from the slightly lower angle she could clearly see the slender dark-haired girl sitting on the office couch alongside the young captain. Ah – Ichigo's sister, then. That explained the similarities in their energy signatures. The two of them were acting perfectly innocent – it looked like they were having a conversation about something light hearted at the moment, but now that she actually looked at them she could see what Grimmjow had meant earlier. There was definitely something there, though she hadn't seen any sign of it previously, when the two of them were in public.

"Does Ichigo know?"

Grimmjow snorted. "What, that his little sister is dating a Captain? Well, he's still breathing, so I'm going to say no. Wonder how long it's been going on… "

Harribel grabbed him by the shoulder, her grip unyielding as iron. "That is none of our concern. Now, come on. Captain Hitsugaya is powerful, and I do not intend to provoke him." With that, she launched herself into the air, bounding away over the roofs of Seireitei as Grimmjow snarled and struggled in her grasp. She'd have to teach the violent man a few lessons in courtesy and respect, including why it was rude to spy on young love, and that was best done far away from here, where the sounds of destruction wouldn't reach the couple in the office.

Besides, she thought they were kind of cute together. Not that she had any intention of telling anybody that. Espada did not think in terms of such things as 'cute', after all.

888

"Why are you here?"

Ulquiorra stepped through the entrance doors and drew his sword with a slow, deliberate movement. All around the inside of Division Six, dozens of unranked Soul Reapers tensed and let their hands drop to their weapons. The Fourth Espada ignored them with the casual disdain that they deserved, focused instead on the stoic Captain on the other side of the small courtyard. Byakuya Kuchiki showed very little reaction to his obviously challenging movements, save for the slightest tensing of the muscles around his mouth. He evidently understood, but Ulquiorra decided to give a verbal reply anyway, for the benefit of those around them.

"I require a duelling partner to practice against. Given the available options, I believe you are the only one with both the required strength and motivation to match me."

His actual motivations, of course, went far beyond that. If it solely been about finding an agreeable opponent, then he would have gone to the Eleventh division, and by the way that Kuchiki raised his eyebrow just fractionally it was apparent that the same realisation had occurred to him as well. But no one was concerned over the loyalty of the violent barbarian – it was Byakuya Kuchiki who was supporting Kurosaki in the political arena, and thus the noble's standing that was at stake. Ulquiorra would give him the opportunity to draw hollow blood, here in front of his squad where rumours would have fertile ground to take root, and thus absolve the Captain of any sort of suspicion with regards to his loyalty. It might even be enough to fool the Captain Commander, though Ulquiorra doubted it – one did not live to that age without growing wise to such political tricks.

Kuchiki seemed to consider the proposal for a long moment, and then nodded in agreement. His mind was evidently sharp enough to have deduced the likely implications of a duel in the eyes of others. Surprisingly, so had Kurosaki's – the orange haired Vizard had even agreed to the suggestion once Ulquiorra had proposed it. If he continued to impress in such a way, then Ulquiorra considered that he might even have to accept the boy as a worthwhile successor to Lord Aizen. His methods were different, to be sure, but they had got him hailed as a hero and accepted into a position of power, while the deceased Aizen was disdained as a traitor and held only in contempt by those who he had sought to rule.

Captain and Espada stepped towards each other, swords gleaming, and the game moved onto its next stage.

**A/N – Yay, politics. I'm willing to bet this chapter has clued a few people in on where this story is going, which was basically the intention. Well, that and it gave me the chance to have Stark wear one of Shunsui's hats, which is just an amusing mental image all on its own.**

**Reviews are, as always, appreciated. Next time – Gin and Shirosaki attempt diplomacy. This can only end badly.**


	13. Chapter 12 Trading on reputation

**A/N – If the current trend for this story continues, then with this update we should break the 100 review goalpost. This is, as I have often stated, awesome; many thanks to all those who have reviewed, and to the 130+ folks who've put this on their favourite story list. It's mainly because of you that this story is retaining any degree of momentum – I have a really bad habit of starting projects and failing to finish them.**

**Anyway, as a reward, here's the second longest chapter yet, wherein we start expanding on some of the more AU elements of the story. For one thing, in this version, the Winter War was rather more… extensive than portrayed in the manga. Canny observers will have noted, for example, that more than a few ranking members of the Gotei were missing from that hilltop confrontation…**

**888**

_The first Hueco Mundo incursion was to have considerable repercussions on the rest of the Winter War. The incursion had been mostly spontaneous on the part of the Gotei, rapidly organised in an attempt to exploit the unexpected gains made by Ichigo Kurosaki during the extraction operation of his subordinate officer, Orihime Inoue, but Aizen proved well-prepared for their arrival. _

_He used Kido to temporarily seal the dimensional barrier between Hueco Mundo and the Soul Society, trapping significant elements of the Fourth, Sixth, Eleventh and Twelfth Divisions while he personally lead a devastating counter-attack via the World of the Living. The First Battle of Karakura, as this conflict would become known, was a brutal conflict that only ended in victory for the Gotei after Captain-General Yamamoto personally took to the field along with no less than five other Captains._

_A History of the Winter War, Second Edition copy, chapter 19._

Gin Ichimaru walked into the bar, humming a happy little tune to himself and doing his absolute best to appear as non-threatening as possible. Ichigo had approved this little trip of his out into the far Rukongai under the express condition that he was not to get into any trouble. Naturally, Gin had protested – Rukongai was an unpredictable place, after all, and one was bound to encounter trouble of one sort or other if they stayed there more than, say, five minutes – and the newly minted Captain of the Fifth had dutifully amended the restrictions to the effect that he was forbidden from _starting _any trouble.

Credit where it was due, though, the look in Ichigo's eyes had confessed to the fact that the clever lad didn't really expect Gin to remain utterly innocent while he was out there. It was a look that Gin had become exceptionally familiar with over the years. All he had to do now was find out exactly how much leeway Kurosaki-kun was prepared to give him with regards to what everyone else assumed were incontrovertible commands.

All the same, no one could deny that Gin was making a definitive effort to avoid trouble. Knowing that folks out in the far districts didn't respond too well to visible authority, he'd left his uniform back at the Division, both his original Shinigami robes and the pristine white gear that the Espada had favoured. In its place was simple civilian garb of moderate quality, completely devoid of any rank markings or badges of allegiance. The quality was a cut above what constituted average out here, but not too much so – just enough to mark him out as someone of importance, falling short of the dreaded 'rich idiot' level. The former bought him a wary respect, the latter earned a brutal mugging in a side street, and while he was reasonably sure he could take anyone who thought to threaten him out here, Ichigo probably wouldn't appreciate him coming back all blood stained and giggling.

In the same theme, he'd not made any effort to disguise the presence of Shinso, tucked into his belt in such a way that any halfway competent thug would recognise as being suited for rapid retrieval. Out here, only utter novices and infamous underworld bosses attempted to present a front of being completely unarmed, and Gin had no intention of being mistaken for either. He was here for business, after all, and businessmen had a hard time respecting anyone who projected an air of anything less than total competence.

He'd barely taken half a dozen steps into the interior of the bar before a large, tattooed man saw fit to interpose himself between him and the centre of the establishment. Through narrowed eyes, Ichimaru marked the presence of at least half a dozen more thugs watching the impromptu confrontation with thinly veiled interest. Much like the rude gentleman in front of him, they all carried swords and bore the numerous scars of men who had plenty of experience with them. They'd evidently made a conscious effort to hide the fact that they were part of a unit, given the complete lack of any common elements in their various outfits, but Gin had been (re)born and raised in these streets, and to him they might as well have stamped their allegiance all over their ugly, sneering faces.

The sheer nostalgia of the moment made him smile as he turned his attention back to the individual in front of him, who had crossed his arms and subtly inflated his chest in the manner of two-penny thugs everywhere. It was almost cute, really, how obviously artificial the harsh tones of his voice were.

"This place is invitation only. Don't know you, so get out." The thug growled. All around the bar, various genuine patrons looked up with mild interest at the sound. They were mostly reasonably well dressed for this district, and every last one of them carried at least two weapons on their person – all of which told the practiced observer that they were likely low ranking members of some criminal organisation or other. Gin nodded to himself, pleased that he'd evidently picked the right place to start his search, and then looked up into the eyes of the man in front of him.

"I'm looking for the _Daimyo._" He said, smiling pleasantly and doing his best to keep the accent out of his voice. "Be a good little minion and go fetch him, hmm?"

The thug blinked and took a step back, as all around the bar damn near everyone hissed in surprise at the blatant disrespect. To say something like that here, in the very heart of the gang's territory, was nothing short of a direct challenge. And to couple it with a personal insult was verging into the realms of suicidal, especially for an unknown and unaccompanied outsider. No one was really surprised when the half dozen pretend-customers around the bar rose to their feet, murder in their eyes, nor when the thug in the middle recovered his wits and drew the sword at his side with a menacing hiss. Here and there, patrons took a firm hold of their drinks and started weighing up whether the impending violence was worth leaving the establishment for the next few moments.

"What's your name?" the thug demanded in what he presumably thought was a menacing voice, raising the sword in a deliberately slow manner so that it caught at the light. "I want to know what to inscribe on your grave marker."

Gin sighed to himself. He had vaguely hoped that at least someone in this bar would retain enough long term memory to recognise him on sight, but apparently they'd all forgotten just what the appearance of a silver-haired fox in their district actually meant. Honestly, it hadn't been that long since he'd last been here. He kept the disappointment off his face though, choosing to raise his voice just slightly and address his response to the establishment at large.

"Ah, terribly sorry, that was rude of me. I'm Gin Ichimaru."

And _there _was the reaction that he'd been originally hoping for. At least three different patrons choked on their drinks, and two of the approaching thugs dropped their swords in abject shock. Even among those who retained enough presence of mind to keep a hold of their swords, there wasn't a single face that didn't go pale. The thug in front of him licked his lips nervously, and then displayed what was either remarkable bravery or incredible stupidity.

"Bullshit. Ichimaru's dead. The Soul Reapers killed him." He said, not quite managing to keep the quaver out of his voice. After all, even if you didn't believe it, it wasn't every day that a creepy looking stranger wandered into your place of work and claimed to be most terrifying killer in living memory. Gin had put in a great deal of personal effort to make sure his name and reputation could survive something as trivial as his reported death, and apparently he'd succeeded beyond even his best expectations. Indeed, he had a sneaking suspicion that he'd become something of a dark legend out here in the far Rukongai, given the way that half a dozen grown men were practically wetting themselves at the sound of his name. He had to admit, it felt good.

"Nope. Still breathing." Gin said in an almost absurdly cheerful fashion. For the briefest of instants he unshackled his spiritual pressure, letting everyone around him feel it. It was a trick that every moderately powerful Soul Reaper could accomplish, given sufficient training, and experience had taught him that everyone's spirit energy felt subtly different, in addition to the standard sense of crushing pressure. Yamamoto, for example, felt like an open furnace that you'd drifted a bit too close to, while Kuchiki Byakuya manifested as a feeling of ice water down the spine. He had it on good authority that he and Shinso generated the rather uncomfortable feeling of 'a sharp knife scratching along your naked bones', to quote Rangiku in one of her oddly poetic moods. Judging by the way everyone around him shuddered and nearly collapsed in that mere instant, she'd been right on the money.

He leashed the energy again with a moment's concentration, and then waited patiently for one of the terrified men around him to regain enough presence of mind to actually speak without sounding like a blabbering fool. He briefly wondered if this rather addictive sensation of utter superiority was what had started Aizen down the path to attempted godhood. Then he wondered if Ichigo would one day desire the same. More importantly, he wondered what he would do if that day should ever come, and was faintly disturbed to realise that he didn't actually know. Hmm.

"Ah… right this way, Ichimaru-sama." One of the men, now considerably more respectful than before, said in an overly polite voice as he backed away towards a door in the far wall. Humming contentedly to himself, Gin followed.

888

If there was one thing that Ichigo Kurosaki had learned in the week or so since he had become a more long-term inhabitant of the afterlife, it was that Shinigami were terrible gossips. He supposed it was only natural – after all, barring death in combat, a Soul Reaper was somewhere between extremely long lived and nigh-immortal and they needed to find something to do to pass the time. For those who found nothing particularly appealing about the concept of relentless military training, the only thing left was apparently gossip.

The situation was only exacerbated by the way in which the different Captains each seemed to form something of a cult of personality amongst the lower-ranked Soul Reapers under their command. As far as he could tell none of them did it deliberately – but when you could quite literally take on entire armies of nightmarish abominations on your own, a degree of hero worship on the part of your subordinates was to be expected.

But no matter how much it was a natural and expected part of the afterlife, he couldn't deny that the constant background hum of barely-muted whispers that followed him wherever he went was exceedingly irritating.

"What's up, King? You look about ready to kill something."

Of course, he had to admit that he was perhaps not helping his rumour problem by allowing Shirosaki to manifest and walk around a few steps behind him whenever the hollow felt like it, daemonic bull-mask and all. He knew that, theoretically, he could force his colour-swapped doppelganger back inside his soul with a conscious effort, but his experiences over the last week had taught him that the only thing that accomplished was to place the irritating voice inside his own skull. At least this way everyone else could see exactly who he was talking to whenever Shiro's commentary grew too irritating.

He supposed this was just the price he had to pay for the restoration of his powers, and everything considered it was a fairly minor one. As it was, he'd been expecting some rather serious side effects from having a horrifyingly potent dosage of Hollow reaitsu injected directly into his soul, but thankfully the dormant personality lying dormant below his own had absorbed enough of it to reduce the impact on his own psyche. Captain Unohana had seemed slightly bemused at the prognosis – apparently, even in Soul Society it wasn't every day that potentially horrific trauma-induced mental instability was averted by a pre-existing split personality.

With a sigh, Ichigo glanced over his shoulder at the grinning Hollow. "It's the damn whispers, and you know it. And for the last no, no you can't just kill them. Probably wouldn't even work."

Shirosaki chuckled a bit, and then grinned. "Personally, I think it's brilliant. We have fans!" he said, turning to grin at one young Soul Reaper who'd gotten a little too close in her apparent desire to get a good look at the bizarre pair walking through the streets of Seireitei. The girl squeaked in fear and scampered off for the anonymity of the surrounding streets, pursued by Shiro's strangely echoing laughter.

"Right, screw this." Ichigo said, kicking off from the ground and taking to the surrounding roofs in irritation. He supposed that after he'd spent a few years here the maze-like layout of the streets would stop being so utterly confusing, but right now they made it absolutely impossible for him to work out where he was going. Then again, Kenpachi had been here far longer than him, and he had it under good authority that the madman got lost as often as a complete newbie – at least when he didn't decide to just go straight to his destination, intervening walls be damned. With a slightly depressed sigh, he squinted in the morning sunlight and slowly turned on the spot until he located the distinctive set of buildings that marked the Soul Reaper Academy, off in the distance. As he'd thought, his previous course along the actual roads had been taking him off in almost the opposite direction to where he had wanted to go.

Still, now that he had a visible destination to head towards the journey was considerably simpler. One flickering flash-step and he was standing atop the slated wall that marked the perimeter of the school grounds, Shiro buzzing in a few heartbeats behind him. The angled tiles under his feet made for surprisingly stable footing as the two of them strolled along the length of the wall, using the vantage point to look over the Academy grounds within.

It didn't take him long to find his first target. A squad of Academy students was running through the motions of sword drill in one of the interior courtyards, under the steady and demanding gaze of a Lieutenant with flame red hair. Ichigo hung back for a moment, grudgingly impressed by the commanding air that Renji seemed to exude as he prowled back and forth along the ranks of drilling would-be-Shinigami. He'd grown used to thinking of the redhead as a slightly coarse punk, albeit a strong and courageous one, so it was something of a shock to see him acting like a proper officer for once. He waited for the drill to finish, then hopped down off his perch and strolled over to the squad. It didn't take Renji long to pick up on the way his trainees stiffened in shock as they stared over his shoulder, and he turned with an inquisitive look on his face that melted away into pleased surprise.

"Ichigo! Or should that be Captain Kurosaki now?" Renji said, grinning widely as he saw how his friend shuddered at the sound of the title.

"Renji, I swear to whatever god you care to name that if you start getting formal with me I am going to set Yachiru on you." Ichigo growled, while in the background Shiro sniggered in malicious amusement. "What's going on here, anyway? I never thought of you as the teaching type."

Renji nodded and indicated the trainees, all of whom had straightened up into positions of attention in the presence of a Captain. "It's a new initiative. The idea is that we give recruits some experience of different Divisional practices and let them meet the higher officers, so they can make better decisions about which Division they want to apply for when they graduate. Captain Kuchiki sent me to run some advanced Zanjetsu classes." He explained, and the two of them shared a significant look as they picked up on the subtext of the initiative. Wider exposure to different commanders would also hopefully discourage the type of single-issue devotion that had been so problematic during the Winter War. Ichigo knew for a fact that a significant portion of the Fifth Division that had followed Aizen into his rebellion had done so because he was the only commander they had ever known, and they had chosen loyalty to him over allegiance to Seireitei as a whole.

"Hmm. Interesting." Ichigo muttered, looking over the ranks of rigid shinigami with an assessing eye. He couldn't help but be amused when he saw the way they visibly tensed up as his gaze fell on them, but out of consideration for their morale he kept the laughter from his face. "I've been told that I should start considering rebuilding the Fifth, though they've given me discretion on how I go about it." He nodded towards the assembled recruits even as he directed the question to Renji. "Any of this lot any good?"

The Lieutenant nodded, indicating two of the front-rank Shinigami with quick gestures. "Masao and Heshi there are two of the best recruits that I've seen in some time." He said, his voice gruff and businesslike. Both of the officers knew that the question had been deliberately phrased – Ichigo had a gift for inspiring those around him, something that had often proved of vital importance during the War. Neither of them missed the way the two indicated trainees practically inflated with pride at being personally commended in front of a Captain, nor the way those around them tensed with increased resolve as the desire to prove themselves in turn burned through their minds.

Ichigo nodded seriously to the two indicated, then turned back to Renji. "Might see if I can spare some time to come by myself in a few days, get a personal view of what they can do." He said carelessly, perfectly aware of the way the rumours would circulate the Academy once he'd left. Personal training from a Captain was a chance that many ranked Shinigami never got, and yet the Hero of the Winter War was willing to spend some time practicing with worthy recruits. It would motivate them like nothing else; he was sure – one of the many side effects of those cults of personality. "Anyway, is Rukia around here somewhere? I wanted to speak to her about something."

Renji nodded and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Yeah, she's a couple of courtyards over, running some advanced Kido instruction." He'd barely finished speaking when the air filled with a harsh electrical crackling that terminated in a dull thump, followed shortly thereafter by a string of curses that would have put a lowborn gangster to shame. The words sounded strange when rendered in Rukia's voice, her well-trained noblewoman's elocution degrading somewhat under the strain of searing anger.

With a faint grin, Ichigo once again found himself tracking down Rukia by the tried and tested method of following the explosions.


	14. Chapter 13 Reflections: Hitsugaya

**A/N – Sorry for the minor delay, folks. I blame a combination of turning 20 and receiving Skyrim as a present. Gods, that game devours free time like nothing else…**

**And it turns out that I was right last time – this story did indeed break the 100 review mark. Actually, it went a fair bit beyond that, which I can't help but be pleased about. Anyway, enough rambling, on with the story!**

**888**

Toshiro Hitsugaya did not, as a general rule, make friends easily. When he was a child in the districts of Rukongai, he was shunned and mistrusted by all those around him, be it for his unusual appearance or the barely-visible sense of power that hung around his shoulders. No one who he met there could actually perceive the mighty ice dragon that hovered behind him and filled the air with an unnatural chill, but they felt its presence none the less, and few could bear to be exposed to it for any longer than absolutely necessary.

He had thought that perhaps his days in the Shinigami Academy might change that, but even when all your peers hold unnatural and barely tapped power in their bodies, the presence of an absolute genius is a hard one to accept. He'd stormed through the courses in under a year, shattering all previous records and manifested a level of power sufficient to dwarf even that of the instructors that sought to teach him. And even after graduation, no one seemed able to relate to him well enough to actually form a genuine friendship, either intimidated by his power or dismissive of his youthful looks. Legends, it seemed, do not have friends.

Throughout all of this, the closest thing he had to a true friend was Momo Hinamori, she who had known him for so long that they were practically siblings. She alone had never feared him, though he could freeze the heavens themselves. She alone had never resented him, even when he outstripped her life's dream of being a Death God in a fraction of the time. She and she alone, had always trusted and believed in him, and even though she could never bring herself to use his formal rank, she alone had always taken him seriously. When Aizen had spun his web of lies about her and stripped away everything she thought she knew about her oldest friend, it had damn near broken her.

And then, months later, during the battle of Karakura, Aizen had finished the job. He had twisted reality to his whims, and Hitsugaya, with hatred in his heart and fury singing in his veins, had rammed his sword through Momo's heart. The sword of a captain, in full Bankai state and driven by a reckless passion… the sheer force of the blow had shattered her bones and shredded her organs to pieces. She had blinked, coughed, and died in his disbelieving arms.

It had broken him. Oh, he'd survived the madness that followed, and in time the physical injuries that Aizen inflicted on him had healed, but there was no cure for the wounds such a blow had left on his soul. For a time, he had contemplated suicide, and it was only the knowledge that Momo would have hated him for it that had stayed his hand. Instead he had fled, abandoning the Seireitei without a single backwards glance and taking refuge in the world of the living. He'd hidden there for weeks, using the dense spiritual energy around Karakura town to camouflage his own reiatsu, even though every familiar sight there drove splinters into his heart.

It had been Karin Kurosaki who had found him, in the end, her own barely-developed senses leading her straight to him the moment she decided to look. When she located him, hunched over and pathetic in some dank corner of the town's backstreets, she had been absolutely furious. Ignoring the vast difference in their power, the young woman had apparently taken it upon herself to quite literally beat some sense into him. It had taken her several days to do it, to break through the layers he had wrapped around his bleeding soul and drag the ugly truth out into the light.

And then, incredibly, she had forgiven him for it. With fire in her voice and soul, she had forced him to confront what he had done and acknowledge the cold, simple fact that it hadn't been his fault. She had found him broken, and with a relentless determination she had put him back together, torn away the self hatred and replaced it with honest grief, then helped him through that as well. It had been a long and difficult road back to his sanity, and she had walked every step of it by his side. At some point during the journey, he had fallen in love with her, and she with him. If asked, neither of them could pin down exactly when it had happened, but by the time he had finally returned to the Soul Society, it was an undeniable fact.

To his great relief, after his return the Captain-Commander had taken one look at him and agreed to write off the entire time – several months in length – as personal recovery time. Privately, he suspected that Captain Unohana had been at least partially responsible for his lenience, but when he'd asked her she'd only smiled and said nothing.

When her brother had apparently been murdered and the entire Kurosaki family had been relocated to Seireitei for their own safety, he had done his best to repay her. He'd been prepared to throw all the resources of the Tenth Division behind the search of her brother's murderer and, having found an unlikely ally in Kenpachi Zaraki, had been in the final stages of planning a comprehensive search and destroy operation when Ichigo had torn open the sky above Seireitei and walked back into their lives in the company of the Espada.

Toshiro had to admit, if nothing else the boy knew how to make an entrance.

With a faint sigh, the young Captain put down the latest sheath of paperwork to come through his office and held his head in his hands for a moment. Then he looked up at the couch on the far side of the room, which Karin was currently using as a makeshift bed. The faintest of smiles crept across his face as he looked at her peaceful features. Karin was usually so fiery and passionate, and it still felt bizarre to him to see her looking calm and serene. At times like this, it was easy to remember that despite all appearances to the contrary, she was still just a human.

Granted, with the power he could feel burning in her soul, he doubted that she would remain "just a human" for a great deal longer. Indeed, given her family history, he had no doubt that one day Karin would rise to the very top levels of Soul Society. But if she was to achieve her potential, if he was to one day count her as a true equal, then right now she needed to be protected. The smile dropping off his face, Hitsugaya crossed to the window and stared out over the Soul Society, one hand resting on the hilt of Hyonimaru. He gaze drifted until it came to rest on the abandoned grounds of the Fifth Division, where he knew that even now Karin's brother was waiting, planning.

"Ichigo." He whispered to the night air, mindful of the sleeping girl behind him. "I hope you know what you're doing."

Because he knew without the slightest shred of doubt that if Kurosaki and Yamamoto ever crossed swords, Karin would side with her brother. And if that happened, he would unleash Hyonimaru in their defence, and freeze the heavens themselves. He just hoped it wouldn't come to that.

He hoped, but he didn't believe.

**A/N – As per requests from certain readers, this is the first of a series of relatively smaller chapters exploring the character's motivations in a bit more depth than I have done so far. I might, at some point, write the encounter between Hitsugaya and Karin that was mentioned above in a bit more depth. I'm just kinda bad at writing angst… and romance for that matter. Well, practice makes perfect and all that.**


	15. Chapter 14 Reflections: Yamamoto

**A/N – And with this update, To be a King Once More breaks the 30k word barrier. The characterisation chapters continue, with this one about everyone's favourite genocidal grandfather, and I figured I might as well ask – do you, my wonderful readers, have any preference for which character should get their head examined next? While you consider that, read on!**

**888**

_As the Winter War drew on, it became increasingly obvious that the sheer power difference between even the lowest Arrancar and the unranked Soul Reapers was creating a crushing morale problem within the ranks of the Gotei. It was determined that a visible and crushing victory over the enemy legions was necessary in order to maintain order in the ranks. So, one year to the day after the First Battle of Karakura, Captain-Commander Yamamoto journeyed to Hueco Mundo and personally destroyed the fortification of Las Noches._

_A History of the Winter War, Chapter 31_

It had been a long time since Yamamoto had felt the need to journey to his inner world in order to converse personally with the spirit of his weapon. However, the decision that he knew he had to reach today was one that affected both of them in equal measure – indeed, whichever option he chose, the consequences would shape the very structure of the Soul Society for centuries to come – and before such a choice could be made he had to make sure that he was totally certain in his heart.

The wooden cane in his hand rapped against the volcanic stone as he strode up the narrow pathway cut into the side of the mountain. Overhead, the noonday sun seared the ground with its rays, warming his old bones with a heat that had not so much as flickered in centuries. The necessity of this walk was one of the primary reasons he came here so infrequently – Ryujin Jakka insisted on a pilgrimage before he would consent to a direct meeting, and such a thing took time to complete. Some Zanpahktou might be willing to consult with their wielders on any decision, or feel the need to pester them with advice and suggestions every second of the day, but the great fire dragon was most certainly not one of those, and in truth the Captain-Commander was glad of it.

With a final grunt, he reached the lip of the volcano and beheld the inferno contained within. This was another fashion in which Ryujin Jakka differed from other zanpaktou – it never took on a humanoid form. Yamamoto had never entirely deduced whether this quirk was a matter of deliberate choice or actual inability on the part of his sword, and had long since accepted it as strangely fitting. His sword was not a person, after all. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Ryujin was not _just _a person.

In the caldera below, the fires of the apocalypse raged, towering columns of multicoloured flame that writhed and hissed in the depths of the earth like a multitude of infernal serpents. They seethed and roiled like an ocean, roared with the voice of a savage beast and burned with a mindless fury, all at once. They were Ryujin Jakka, the fires that could reduce all of creation to naught but drifting ash, and the sight of them never failed to humble him. He took a long moment to properly appreciate them once more, feeling the waves of infernal heat batter him like a typhoon, then opened his mouth and called forth his sword spirit with a voice that shook the ground itself.

One of the writhing tendrils of fire separated from the rest and wound its way up the side of the caldera, turning the very rock molten under its touch as it slithered up to meet him. It paused scant feet from his motionless form, before rearing up and moulding itself into the shape of something not entirely definable and yet still distinctly avian. The phoenix regarded him for a time, and then spoke in a voice formed from the crackling of a million fires.

"**You stand at a crossroads**."

Yamamoto nodded sombrely. "The boy challenges my judgement and breaks the law with every breath he takes. For that, he should die. And yet, he brings strength with him, and has rallied many to his side. He may even bring peace, for a time."

"**We fear to hope.**" The phoenix said in a neutral tone. They both understood the risks inherent in what the boy was doing – he was still young, too young to have acquired the wisdom he would need to avoid a catastrophic blunder. And yet, Yamamoto could still remember the days when he too had been a young and impulsive warrior, seeking to change the world. The parallels were obvious, though only to those few who still remembered those ancient days – the only question that remained was whether the world could survive the change that Kurosaki sought to bring.

"He needs guidance to walk the path he has chosen." Yamamoto said, concern in his tone, "And yet he does not listen to the wisdom of others."

The phoenix laughed, and the sound was deep and terrible. "**Then give him an advisor he will not ignore. You know the way.**"

Yamamoto gazed at the burning spirit, perfectly aware of what it was suggesting. It would not be the first time such an option had occurred to him, but if he agreed, it would be the first and last time such a thing could occur. Some decisions, once made, cannot be undone. "If I grant him such a tool, then one way or another the world will burn. You would ask such a thing of me?"

Ryujin Jakka looked at him, all humour gone from its manner. Contained in its otherworldly eyes now was the wisdom of a being that had persisted for aeons, one that had seen whole civilisations rise and fall. "**Fire can bring life as well as death. The world will burn, but it will rise again, greater than before. That is the cycle we serve**."

Yamamoto stared into the heart of the inferno, and made his decision.


	16. Chapter 15 Reflections: Byakuya

**A/N – a combination fight scene and reflection chapter, this one. Take it as an apology to those of you who were annoyed when I ended one of the previous chapters just before Ulquiorra and Byakuya were about to fight. In the meantime, thanks to those of you who reviewed, and I shall see you next time I update!**

They dance together, the Espada and the Captain, as the sixth division looks on. It is breathtaking to watch, a pair of master swordsmen pitted against each other in battle, swords flaring as they catch the light. In perfect synchronisation they moved around the courtyard, every manoeuvre matched and countered by the opponent, every swing deflected or avoided by the thinnest of margins. To an uneducated outsider each would appear to be the equal of the other, but members of the Sixth are never uneducated, and all who watch the fight with rapt attention can divine the subtle differences that mark the fighters apart.

Ulquiorra strikes with more force, his face expressionless as he levels blows that could shatter buildings. Captain Kuchiki is faster, utterly composed as he deflects each blow in turn and delivers flickering ripostes that miss their target by the slightest distance. Neither of them speaks a word, too focused to spare attention for taunts or banter and too disciplined for laughter or animal snarls. Had they met before the war, the Espada would likely have won, his opponent unused to an enemy that could match his raw power, but many things have changed over the course of that long and bloody conflict. Byakuya Kuchiki learned the folly of complacency in those dark and violent days, and even after Aizen's defeat he made a point to hold to the same rigorous training schedule, determined to never again allow his skills to degrade beyond utter battle readiness. And this is not his first time crossing blades with one of the Ten.

It is the Soul Reaper who draws first blood, after almost five minutes of ferociously fast combat have passed. He takes a chance and launches into an actual flash step, gambling on the fact that he will be able to re-orientate his senses faster than his opponent can turn around, and he is proven correct as the glittering edge of Senbonzakura bites into the Espada's shoulder. He had been aiming for the heart, that much is immediately apparent to those capable of tracking his movement, but the Arrancar's rapid movement was at least sufficient to throw off his aim even if it could not avoid the blow entirely. Even so, the strike slices through the hardened skin of the evolved hollow and leaves a shallow cut to weep dark blood. The damage is regenerated within moments, but that is not important to those watching – their Captain has drawn blood, and they feel justified in their pride.

In Seireitei, practice duels are traditionally fought to first blood, so no one is surprised when Kuchiki retreats slightly after his blow, his sword lowering by the merest fraction. It is not a major movement, and the Captain realises his error almost instantly and moves to correct it, but in such a finely balanced match even the slightest hesitation can prove critical. Ulquiorra swivels on his heel, and to the shock of those observing his left hand rises and casually deflects the zanpaktou that cut him but an instant before. The move leaves a deep slice in his palm, the second injury he has taken inside a second, but in exchange the Captain is rendered unable to deflect the sword in his right hand.

Byakuya recoils, a long slice up the centre of his chest spraying blood through the air as he glides back across the courtyard. Ulquiorra lets him go, remaining totally motionless, sword held outstretched so all may see the crimson adorning its edge. The wound is by no means critical, barely more than an inconvenience, but it is most definitely there and more importantly, it is persistent. In a heartbeat the slice in Ulquiorra's hand seals itself in a similar manner to his shoulder injury, while Kuchiki can only hold one hand to the bleeding slash in his torso. The two lock gazes for a moment, oblivious to the chorus of frantic whispering filling the courtyard all around them, green eyes meeting grey in silent understanding.

Clearly, swords alone will not be enough for the Captain to emerge victorious – his skill might be fractionally superior, but he cannot regenerate his injuries, and eventually attrition will cost him the battle. He could release his sword, but to do so within the Seireitei in what was technically regarded as peace time was strictly forbidden save for emergencies, and he doubts that Captain-Commander Yamamoto will regard the need to win a practice duel sufficient justification. Fortunately, the Sixth Captain has always endeavoured to train himself in a broad range of fighting styles, so that he does not become overly reliant upon his zanpaktou. If the sword will not allow him to prevail here, perhaps the demon arts shall.

To invoke a kido spell without speaking is a difficult feat, but he has long ago mastered the skill for situations such as this one, where the risk of interruption can be deemed greater than the chances of the spell failing. He moves forwards, taking his sword in two hands and moving in for an overhead swing that will maximise the force of his blow. The act disguises his intent, making it appear that he has simply decided to rely on stronger blows to inflict deeper wounds, ones that will take longer to heal even for an Espada's regenerative abilities.

Ulquiorra falls for it, moving in to parry the blow and only realising his mistake when the rope of glowing yellow energy tightens around his sword arm. Hainawa, the 4th binding spell, was a relatively weak technique, and against the strength of an Arrancar it could not persist for more than an instant, but even such a miniscule pause can be critical in battle. The slight delay meant that Ulquiorra's sword was a fraction of a second too slow to block the two handed slice, and the glittering edge of Senbonzakura tears it's way down the marble-white torso without stopping.

The Captain does not stop there, having already learned from the earlier clash not to assume the Fourth Espada is defeated based on the result of a single cut. He has an opening here, one he does not expect to last more than a few seconds at the most, and with typical ruthless efficiency he exploits it to the utmost. Without the slightest hesitation, he reverses the sword at the end of its savage downward arc and brings it back up again. As it rises once more, Byakuya Kuchiki speaks the first word of the battle.

"Shō."

It is the first of the Hadō spells, a technique learned in the first year of the Academy, not one generally considered to be even remotely dangerous. But when backed by the raw power that a Captain of the Gotei 13 can muster, even the simplest of invocations can prove to be dangerous indeed. The kinetic force of the spell, combined with the upwards slash of the zanpaktou in Byakuya's hands, knocked Ulquiorra off his feet and into the air. The actual damage inflicted was minimal at best, and in the blink of an eye the Espada solidified the spiritual energy in the air around him to arrest his upwards flight. Unfortunately for him, that was exactly was Byakuya had been counting on – for the briefest of moments, Ulquiorra was holding himself motionless in the air, just out of sword range.

"Hadō 33" he incanted calmly, as Ulquiorra's eyes widened slightly in surprise, "Sōkatsui".

The blue firefall slammed into his airborne target, searing the Espada's skin as it forced him against the temporarily-solid air created by his own technique. The Captain's spell proved to be the stronger, and Ulquiorra rose higher into the air, reeling with shock under the battering the conflicting forces had inflicted upon his body. Half a second later his flight was arrested once more, this time by the folds of Bakkudo 37, which formed an inverted net of glowing blue spiritual energy anchored to the four corners of the courtyard. Typically used to catch a falling comrade or stop an enemy from retreating; now its elastic nature forced Ulquiorra back down out of the sky… straight into the next barrage of spells.

Byakuya was familiar with the concept of combination spells, where the user fused two or more kido techniques together to create a superior effect, but he did not usually make use of the style himself. In this case, however, he felt the extra force would be required – an Espada was a powerful enemy, and victory demanded that he compress as much power as possible into each of his attacks. With a moment's concentration, he selected the two spells in question – Pale Lightning and Clash, the fourth and first Hadō spells; simple techniques that he was deeply familiar with. He pictured the crackling beam of Byakurai in his mind and traced the kinetic force of the Shō along the same path, before unleashing the combined beam into the incoming target above him.

The shining light and crackling boom of the enhanced spell echoed around the courtyard, causing more than a few of the gathered Shinigami to wince and shield their eyes. Byakuya didn't so much as blink, remaining stoic as he repeated the spell over and over again, slamming a seemingly endless barrage of destruction magic into the centre of the kido net above them. The spiritual fabric flexed and stretched under the strain of the near-constant impacts, until with a harsh crack one of the tethering ropes came free from the ground it had anchored itself to. Without taking his eyes off of the centre of the net, Byakuya reached out and caught it in his left hand, even as the right continued to slam spears of lightning into his opponent, who was now almost lost to sight as the crackling halo formed around him.

"Hadō 11, Tsuzuri Raiden." He snapped, sending searing lines of energy up the tether and into the rest of the net even as it wrapped around Ulquiorra's thrashing form. The sheer amount of energy contained within the net caused its previous pale blue fabric to glow a brilliant white, and Byakuya realised he had time for one more spell at the most before the binding incantation failed and collapsed. Without allowing the slightest hint of emotion to colour his voice, he focused on the rope in his hands and selected his final spell. "Hadō 12: Fushibi."

As the binding net began to glow a brilliant, fiery orange, he released the tether and watched it snap upwards, the entire fabric of the spell wrapping around the figure in its centre. There was a pause, and then with an echoing boom that could be felt all around Seireitei, the net exploded into flames, a roaring conflagration suspended in the air above the Sixth Division like a miniature star. Hundreds of Shinigami watched the inferno with narrowed eyes, seeking the form of the Arrancar who had been in the centre of it all. They did not have long to wait.

With steady, measured steps, Ulquiorra walked out of the centre of the roaring flames like a wounded angel descending to the earth. His ashen skin was scorched and seared, covered with dozens of small flash-burns and bruises when the spells had slammed into him. His formerly pristine white clothes had been reduced to charred rags that barely hung onto his battered frame. The long sword wound in his torso dripped blood the colour of coal onto the courtyard floor as he descended a staircase formed from solidified air. Despite it all, his pace was confident and assured, and there wasn't the slightest tremor in the hand that held his sword. Byakuya was about to renew the assault when the Espada held up a hand.

"I yield." He said in a calm voice, sheathing the sword in what remained on his belt. "You are an interesting individual, Captain. Another would pause and step back after initiating an action, assess whether it was successful before following up. You, however, commit yourself utterly to your chosen course."

Byakuya nodded his head silently, understanding in an instant that the Espada was not simply speaking of the duel they had just fought. He was acknowledging the Captain's commitment to the cause he was championing with the noble families of the Seireitei, his commitment to the support of the Kurosaki family. It was a long-held saying in the Soul Society – once a Kuchiki has chosen a course of action, not howling wind nor roaring earth will dissuade them from its completion. Whether such a thing was intended as compliment or insult depended on the character of the one speaking, but it was an undeniable truth all the same.

Come what may, he would support Kurosaki against all enemies. His pride demanded it, and there was nothing that Byakuya Kuchiki could or would not do for his pride.


	17. Chapter 16 Snapshots of the truth

**A/N – This chapter is, as the title indicates, closer to a collection of smaller scenes than a full chapter by itself. I do love Bleach, but the sheer number of characters does make it rather hard to get in proper scenes with more than a tiny fraction of them. In any case, this chapter will have both reflections and plot-things in it.**

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Without moving so much as an inch from her spot in the middle of the courtyard, Tatsuki dropped into a crouch and let the dagger slash through empty air above her head. Then, with a confident smile on her face, she sprung back upright, putting all the force of her movement behind a single upwards punch that caught the Shinigami neatly under the chin. The Stealth Force member flew through the air in an absolutely beautiful parabolic curve, landing in a crumpled heap at the feet of his captain.

"Trainees?" the young martial artist queried in an offended tone of voice. "You wouldn't send rookies against Ichigo, so why are you throwing them at _me_?"

Soifon looked at her with eyes so cold they might as well have been carved from ice. She hadn't moved from the door of her office since the human had walked brazenly in a few minutes earlier, nor had she said so much as a word as the girl had brutalised her way through the succession of unranked warriors. The faintest series of hand gestures had been all that was required for the Captain to order the attackers forwards, one after the other. Now, though, she was out of raw recruits, and had to make a decision.

The small Captain glanced sideways at the large man leaning against one of the courtyard walls, quirking one eyebrow in a querying gesture. Lieutenant Omaeda returned her look with one of careful consideration, then turned back to regard the fiery woman standing in front of him. Those who knew of the fat man outside the walls of the Second considered his presence as Soifon's second in command to be nothing more than evidence of the intricate politicking that accompanied all official decisions in the Seireitei, never thinking to look beyond the image of an incompetent fool to the truth beyond.

None of them had ever asked themselves why Soifon, a woman possessed of an almost legendarily ruthless and demanding attitude, would actually tolerate an absolute incompetent in such a senior post.

"Tatsuki Arisawa. She's a long time friend of Kurosaki and Inoue, emphasis on the latter relationship." Omaeda said calmly, his manner professional in a way that would have shocked anyone who thought they knew him. "Although evidence suggests both relationships are strictly platonic, personality analysis indicates that she will become involved in any action taken against either of them. Based on the combat ability displayed, I would recommend Fourth Seat Anjin as an opponent."

Soifon nodded in agreement. Normally, the Lieutenant would have simply skipped to the final recommendation, but he had correctly deduced that the only reason his captain would ask for an assessment in front of an outsider was because she wished to make a point. And Tatsuki had certainly understood, given the way the confident smile had vanished from her face. Her voice, previously amused and offended, was now deadly serious.

"I'll kill you all before I let you set one hand on Orihime."

Soifon smiled, very faintly. She hadn't missed the choice of words there – Orihime, not something more generic like 'my friends'. And she had gone straight for 'kill', unlike Kurosaki who preferred to use words like 'defeat'. Unconscious choices, to be sure, but to a trained analyst they positively burned with significance. Perhaps the new Captain of the Fifth wasn't quite as blind as she had initially assumed – of all his associates that he could have sent to deal with the Second, he'd sent the one who's mindset most closely matched that of the Stealth Force. It was certainly a good first step on the road to proving his desire to integrate him and his followers into the Gotei rank structure.

That didn't stop her from ordering Anjin into the fight with a wordless nod.

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The rooftop perch was the perfect location for a sniper. Uryu Ishida stood perfectly still on the slate tile roof, evaluating all of its qualities in turn. It was shielded from prevailing winds by a cluster of taller buildings nearby, and faced in a southerly direction, so neither wind nor light conditions would be particularly critical considerations. More tall buildings to the north meant that his position did not silhouette him against the horizon, reducing his chances of being detected, and if by some mischance he was then there were at least half a dozen different escape routes within easy access. And best of all, it was just high enough to allow him to place a perfect shot into the central offices of Division 12.

The Quincy tightened his grip on the small cross amulet that dangled from his wrist, feeling the spikes bite into his the palm of his hand as he stared into the lair of his prey. Mayuri Kurotsuchi; The inhuman monster that had tortured and killed Uryu's grandfather in the name of his own twisted brand of 'science'. Ishida had never forgotten the vow he'd made on that day, when he had invaded the Soul Society and discovered the truth behind the most painful chapter of his life – he would one day see the monster die for everything he had done.

He'd held off on fulfilling that vow for over two years now. At first, it was because his first attempt had robbed him of his powers, and no matter how much he wished it were different there was nothing he could realistically achieve against a Shinigami captain. Then it was because he'd somehow found himself on the same side as the Soul Reapers in their war with Aizen, and he wasn't so foolish as to attack an enemy in the middle of such a critical time. After that, well, he'd simply never had the opportunity – the Seireitei was still a fortress, after all, and he could never bring himself to ask the others to help him break in once more for the express purpose of murder.

Now, though… he narrowed his eyes and glared at the sprawling Research Institute. It would be easy, really, almost pathetically so. He defeated Kurotsuchi once before, nearly killed him in fact, and he was stronger now than that first time. Hell, if necessary the Quincy knew he was entirely capable of levelling the entire wing of the laboratory where his nemesis lurked. The only reason he hadn't done so already was that he had no desire to kill potential innocents in his quest for vengeance. That wasn't who he was.

With a quiet curse, Ishida turned on his heel and walked away. One way or another, he'd made up his mind. No matter what else might happen, he couldn't allow that… _creature _to exist for very much longer. It was time to talk to Kurosaki.

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It was not often that Kisuke Urahara found himself rendered speechless. He was generally relaxed and chatty to the point of being irritating, but in the wake of the bombshell that Isshin Kurosaki had just dropped he found that he could do nothing more than simply stare at one of his oldest friends in an expression of utmost shock. Isshin, for his part, was watching this rare display with the sort of confident smile that told you he was memorising the expression for posterity.

"Are you sure, Isshin?" Yoruichi, who had just moments before been curled up on the pile of cushions in the corner of the room in a state of utter feline bliss, asked in a serious tone of voice. "Is that really what Ichigo intends?"

The ex-Captain shrugged and sat back, tucking his hands behind his head in a pose of utter relaxation. "Well, obviously he can't say it out right, not in the middle of Seireitei and all, but yeah, I'm fairly sure he's working on it as we speak. It's not like he has a great deal of choice in the matter, after all."

Urahara finally found where he had left his ability to speak, overcoming his shock by defaulting to his standard mood of upbeat, eccentric enthusiasm. "Why not? He's doing a wonderful job so far of making everyone work together in peace and harmony!"

The elder Kurosaki looked at him, and for a moment Kisuke was forcibly reminded that, no matter what image Isshin liked to project to the world, he was far from an idiot. "You know why, Kisuke. The other Captains might accept him, hell Yama-jii might even accept him… but in the end, it's not their views that are going to matter. He might be able to hide it for a time, but eventually the old man will be forced to make a formal report that mentions he gave a Captain's post to a Vizard with a squad of Hollows as his personal retainers. There's only one way that's going to turn out."

"But if Ichigo knows this…" Yoruichi put in, sounding as concerned as a cat could, "Why did he go back at all? He'd be better served staying out of the Soul Society altogether… Ichimaru killed him already, so he doesn't have to worry about turning up there when he dies, and he has enough allies to carve out a comfortable existence on Earth or Hueco Mundo for as long as he needs to."

It was Urahara who worked out the answer first, and his voice was unexpectedly tired when he gave voice to the thoughts. "It's because of his sisters, and probably his friends as well. One way or another, they'll end up in Soul Society eventually, and Ichigo isn't the sort to abandon them. No matter what might stand in his way."

Isshin nodded gravely. "Yeah. I raised him that well, at least. So now he's up in heaven, making peace with enemies and friends with potential allies, getting ready for another war. I wish it wasn't necessary, but one way or another there isn't really any choice."

The three of them sat there in silence for a time, contemplating the awful truth of the matter in front of them. Eventually, Urahara sighed and hauled himself to his feet, a resigned smile crossing his features.

"I'll give Shinji a call. See how he feels about regicide."


	18. Chapter 17 The vengeance of the Quincy

**A/N – *counts* Seventeen reviews for that last chapter alone. I am, as ever, overjoyed and slightly intimidated that so many people read this story. Therefore, here's a more serious chapter, mainly based around Uryu and Shirosaki. Because I can't help but find the two of them endlessly fun to write about.**

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"You looking to murder someone, Quincy?"

Uryu glanced sharply to the side, a cold weight settling in his gut. He thought he'd been sufficiently cautious during his reconnaissance mission, keeping his spiritual energy heavily suppressed so as to hide his intention from anyone who might see him. Evidently, he had not been careful enough, and he half expected to feel manacles clamping down around his wrists at any moment in payment for his failure.

The feeling of dread remained constant as he took in the appearance of the one who had called out to him from the side alley. It looked like some kind of grey phantom, the heavy shadows dulling the chalk white skin and emphasising the strange black patterns that stretched across its broad chest. A pair of burning red eyes cast the faintest of highlights across the wickedly sharp horns that jutted from its brow, until the strange figure resembled nothing so much as a hideous demon lurking in the shadows.

Uryu recognised it instantly, feeling the old scar on his gut twinge in sympathetic memory. It could only be Kurosaki's hollow side, the strange alter ego that he'd possessed ever since first regaining his Shinigami abilities. The newly minted captain had taken to treating it almost like an old friend ever since he'd returned to the Soul Society, but standing there in the street, Uryu could hardly think of a more foolish idea. The thing in front of him was a monster, plain and simple, and he had to fight down a surge of almost primordial terror at the sight of it before he could muster the self control necessary to respond.

"What makes you think that?"

The hollow snorted, the sound distorted strangely by the clenched fangs of its mask. It reached up with one hand and pulled the mask to the side, revealing the human face beneath. It looked almost exactly like Ichigo, but Uryu had never seen an expression of genuinely malevolent amusement on the Shinigami's face before. The hollow locked gazes with him, the strange yellow and black orbs holding him momentarily transfixed. "You humans, always thinking you can hide what's in your hearts. Thinking you can just put on a mask and no one will see past in to what you _really _want. Honestly, it's hilarious. Don't try to lie to me, Quincy. I can read you like a book."

For a long moment, Uryu considered drawing his bow and cutting the creature down where it stood. He wasn't sure whether he could win… actually, considering how he'd seen the creature fighting, he was reasonably sure that attacking it head on would be suicidal, but there was no way he was going to let this thing stand in the way of his plans. It was only the knowing smirk on the Hollow's face that stopped him, the way it so clearly knew the thoughts running through his head.

"And what do you intend to do about it?" he asked instead, knowing full well that it was essentially an implied confession. The hollow just smiled.

"Me? I want to help." It said happily, and then laughing as it saw the expression of shock crossing Uryu's face. "What? Is that so unexpected? You already thought you had a chance at getting Ichigo to agree to back you up on this, but he's a big important Captain now. He's got plans being put into motion as we speak, plans that would be more than a little complicated by a bit of murder."

The hollow stepped forwards, emerging from the shadows like a pale wraith. The claws that tipped its long fingers glittered menacingly in the light as it continued speaking. "Thing is, I know him. If one of his oh-so-precious friends asked him for help, he'd happily risk everything and get involved, no questions asked. I can't allow that, but at the same time, I don't want to pass up the opportunity to actually kill something." It grinned at him again. Uryu was rapidly coming to the opinion that the creature was incapable of doing anything other than smile. "The only question, little Quincy, is whether you want this badly enough to lower yourself to accepting the help of a hollow."

The Quincy took half a step back as the full impact of the words settled into his mind. The thing standing in front of him was powerful; he knew that, almost monstrously so. And it was offering to help, presenting him with a way through the problems that confronted him without having to test his friendship with Kurosaki. All the same, to work with a hollow would be an utter betrayal of everything that the Quincy order stood for. Was his vengeance really worth that?

As if his own memory was providing an answer, a single image surfaced in his mind. It was the picture that Kurotsuchi had shown him, two years ago when they had first clashed. The picture of Soken Ishida, tortured and violated, stretched out on the slab like a piece of meat at the mercy of a madman while he cried out his student's name. The familiar rage surfaced in his mind once more, setting his soul alight with its cold fire. Before that terrible fury, nothing else mattered – not even his Quincy pride. In that moment, Uryu Ishida realised that he was entirely willing to sacrifice everything in the pursuit of vengeance… and what's more, he didn't care.

He looked up and bet the Hollow's gaze once more, and for the briefest moment Shirosaki quailed under the force of the gaze, before rallying with a pleased chuckle. "Now, why couldn't I have been _your _dark side?"

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They hit the gates of the Twelfth at a dead run, the spiritually reinforced metal crumpling and shredding under the sheer force of the unleashed energy. Within the interior courtyard, half a dozen Soul Reapers spun in alarm, hands instinctively falling to the hilts of their swords. Glowing darts of blue spiritual energy slashed through the air, piercing and crippling those hands before they could even begin to draw the weapons, delivered with pinpoint accuracy as Ishida vaulted over the crumple remains of the gateway and kept running. Shirosaki was not nearly so restrained with the single Soul Reaper that stood between him and the target, lashing out with a clawed hand and sending the bewildered researcher spinning away across the courtyard on a trail of blood.

They'd timed their assault well – Kurotuschi was just completing his daily patrol of his Division's buildings, having satisfied himself with the fact that the dozens of different experiments being conducted at any one time in the Research and Development department were proceeding according to plan. As a result, when the gates exploded inwards, he was just on the other side of the courtyard, and where a frontline commander would have reached immediately for a weapon at the first signs of an attack, the head researcher merely turned to look for the source of the disturbance in complete surprise.

Shirosaki hit him in the chest, one clawed hand punching straight through Mayuri's torso and emerging on the far side covered with the strange green ichors that served the scientist in place of blood. With a triumphant howl, the hollow threw its prey up into the air, uncaring of the way the substitute blood splattered all over its bare chest. With cold eyes and a steady hand, Ishida tracked the impromptu projectile and, at the apex of its arc, unleashed his bow.

The hundreds of electric blue arrows rushed up into the air like inverted rain, their paths bending under the Quincy's implacable will to converge simultaneously on a single point – just within the chest of the man he hated. Mayuri shuddered as he the glowing bolts transfixed him from a dozen directions at once, but to his credit he did not cry out. Instead, he reached down and tore his zanpaktou free of its sheath, already roaring out the release command. He'd scarcely got the first syllable out when the brilliant red orb of the hollow's _cero _struck him just below the neck.

The explosion was massive, seeming to ignite the sky itself as the shockwaves battered down and caused buildings to creak and tremble. Side by side, Uryu and Shirosaki watched the conflagration with unflinching eyes, even as the members of Squad Twelve fled all around them. Twin gazes tracked the progress of the flaming meteorite that fell from the centre of the explosion and impacted on the hard ground scarce metres away from them with a wet thump.

The thing that had once been Mayuri Kurotsuchi barely looked humanoid any more, the sheer barrage of punishment that he had endured over the span of the preceding few moments. With one broken stick of an arm it reached for the hilt of the strange trident-like sword that clattered down next to it, spitting blood as it tried to form words with a mouth that no longer had lips or a tongue. There was a diagonal line cut from the tip of one shoulder to midway down the ribcage, below which the captain simply ceased to exist save for a rapidly spreading pool of noxious blood.

An inexperienced fighter would have been content with that, but Uryu had fought the mad scientist before, and seen him recover from punishment at least equal to this. Beyond which, the monster was still a Soul Reaper captain in the middle of his Division… if they gave him so much as a moment to recover, who knew what kinds of horrors Kurotsuchi could unleash upon them?

With a blur of hirenkyaku he crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat, already drawing one of the small metal devices from its holster on his waist. Last time, he'd given the monster the chance to beg for mercy, and as a result he'd almost died from exposure to the poisons of his Bankai. Uryu was not about to make the same mistake twice. With a vicious hum, _Seele Schnider _burned into life, forming a foot long sword that the Quincy held with cold confidence. There wasn't the slightest trace of hesitation in his manner as he swung the makeshift sword down in a vicious arc and sliced his helpless target's head into two separate pieces.

Breathing heavily, even though the fight had barely lasted more than half a minute in total, Ishida straightened up slowly and found himself looking into the cold eyes of Captain-Commander Yamamoto.


	19. Chapter 18 Escalation

**A/N: 182 reviews… damn, that's a lot. And in exchange, here's a new chapter, wherein everything starts to go badly, badly wrong.**

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Yamamoto didn't say anything. With slow, deliberate motions, he looked between the slowly dissolving corpse on the ground and the defiant Quincy standing over it. Uryu flinched as that burning gaze fell upon him, feeling the very air itself growing heavy as the Captain-Commander of the 13 Court Guard Squads loosened the iron bonds of his self control and let his anger show. The ground cracked and splintered in a spiralling pattern under their feet, and the surrounding buildings creaked and groaned under the strain.

Uryu's mind raced as he frantically sought some way out of the impending confrontation. He'd hoped to be out of the Soul Society entirely before word of his actions reached the Captain-Commander – he'd plotted out the fastest route to the nearest of the Senkai gates, researched where he could find a Hell Butterfly to guide him through, even made subtle inquiries to locate the gaps in the Soul Reaper's worldwide coverage forced by the casualties in the Winter War. None of that mattered in the slightest any more. He couldn't outrun Yamamoto, not if he could reach the sight of the confrontation so quickly, and he no illusions about his chances if he actually tried to fight. He'd seen what the old man in front of him had done to Las Noches – there had been nothing left of that monstrous palace but ash and glass by the time it was over. Against such power, he wouldn't last more than a fraction of a second.

Slowly, the staff in Yamamoto's hand disintegrated, revealing the sword within. If he couldn't fight or flee, maybe surrender would work? Ishida dismissed the idea instantly. Even if he could bring himself to beg and apologise for putting down the monster as he had, it wouldn't change his fate in the slightest – he'd slain a Captain, with the assistance of a hollow no less. There was no doubt that such a crime would carry the death penalty, so all he would achieve would be to sacrifice his pride.

As the Captain-Commander reached across and drew his sword from its sheath, Uryu Ishida felt a curious sense of detachment wash over him. There was quite literally nothing he could do here that would prevent the sentence about to be carried out, no way that his near-genius level mind could find that would allow him to walk away alive. The hollow had already vanished, doubtless using Sonido to retreat to what it thought was a safe distance, but he doubted very much if that was going to work. His use of a cero left a very distinctive energy signature in the air, and there were very few potential culprits for that within the area. Distantly, the Quincy felt a faint sense of regret about that – Yamamoto wouldn't stop with him. He'd hunt down the other perpetrator, and that could only lead to Kurosaki's people.

With a single swipe, Captain-Commander Yamamoto pronounced his judgement on the criminal standing before him, and all that Uryu Ishida could do before the river of flames consumed him was to close his eyes.

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Yuzu stiffened suddenly, and the faint green light of the healing kido she'd been working vanished from between her hands. She barely noticed, turning on the spot to look out the window for the source of the roaring inferno of spiritual energy she could feel being unleashed in the distance. Her skills at such techniques were still rudimentary at best, no matter how far she had come in the few days of training that she'd received, but even a complete novice such as her could feel such power being unleashed.

The door to the training room slid open smoothly, and Captain Unohana stepped through quietly, flanked by her Lieutenant. The Captain looked perfectly calm and unconcerned, but she was carrying her sword in one hand, something that Yuzu hadn't seen once in all the time she'd been here.

"Yuzu, I think we might need to leave soon." Unohana said, and despite the soft tone of her voice, there was no mistaking it for anything other than a command.

888

Ichigo reached up and smacked the incoming hail of burning red orbs aside with a casual gesture, the unravelling spells forming a crackling red halo around him that caused his hair and haori to ripple madly.

"Come on, Rukia. Can't you do better than that?" he said with a faintly teasing smile. Across the training courtyard, the diminutive Soul Reaper smiled back and made a faint flicking gesture with one hand. The flickering arcs of energy around Ichigo suddenly seemed to solidify, their burning red tone shifting and rapidly transitioning into a vibrant blue. He had just enough time to widen his eyes in surprise before the crackling rings of azure fire constricted and consumed him in a pillar of energy.

"Certain Kido spells are structurally similar to each other," she said, smiling victoriously, "so it is possible for a practiced user to transform one of them into the other in order to surprise the enemy." The class of students, most of who had simply been reduced to gawking at the show before them in silent amazement, hurriedly scribbled down the ongoing lecture material in their notes. More than a few of the adjacent swordsmanship class had drifted across to join them over the past few minutes, after their instructor had dismissed them because he 'wouldn't miss this for the world'.

There was a faint _crack _that echoed around the courtyard, and suddenly Ichigo was standing just behind Rukia. He leaned forwards, holding the wooden practice sword across her torso in a way that very obviously demonstrated an averted death blow. Despite the faint burn patterns that covered his exposed face and the previously pristine white haori, he was still smiling. "If you can surprise your enemy, make sure you capitalise on it. Or they can turn it back on you."

Before Rukia could retort, the daemonic form of Shirosaki buzzed into existence on the far side of the courtyard, scattering the nearest students in panic as his coldly malevolent aura washed over them like a wave. He looked up at the scene before him and snorted in evident amusement.

"Sorry to interrupt your touching scene, King, but we're about to have a problem…"

Almost on cue, a burning wave of spiritual energy crashed through the Academy and the air behind the hollow suddenly erupted in flames. They rose above the skyline in a roaring mountain, as though a new star had been created in the middle of the Seireitei, before fading out once more.

"Yeah, that."

888

Gin Ichimaru suddenly rose from his chair, placing the small bowl of sake down on the desk in front of him with abrupt force. He spun away and began marching off abruptly, ignoring the spluttering crime lord behind him as he headed for the exit of the building as fast as he could.

Even here, in the furthest reaches of the Rukongai, he could feel the horrific force of the power that had just been unleashed back in the Seireitei, and although the smile never left his face, his hand tightened around shinso's hilt as he practically sprinted out.

Honestly, he couldn't leave them alone for a moment….

888

On the two sides of the blood splattered clearing, Grimmjow and Harribel lowered their swords at the same moment. They took one look at each other, both battered and injured but otherwise mostly unharmed, nodded and vanished in twin flickers of Sonido.

Something big and violent was happening back in the Seireitei, and heaven help anyone who tried to keep them from it.

888

Ulquiorra and Byakuya both felt it at the same time, as they waited in the Fourth Division for the healers to finish repairing the Captain's wounds. The Espada had regenerated all his injuries within a few moments of passing through the Division's gates, confirming what Byakuya had strongly suspected – he had in no way won the duel back in the Division, the extensive injuries inflicted by the kido temporary inconveniences at best.

Given that the Arrancar had waited until they had reached the healers before repairing the damage, evidently suppressing his rapid regenerative abilities during the journey, Byakuya could only conclude that the supposed 'victory' in the Sixth had been nothing more than a carefully planned political manoeuvre. He was both impressed and somewhat insulted by the move, and had quietly suggested to the Espada that they have a rematch in the near future. His pride would not allow him to be content with a sham victory.

All thoughts of such things left his head instantly the moment he felt the distinctive flare of his Commander's spiritual pressure in the distance. He rose to his feet smoothly, quelling the faint signs of an impending protest from his healer with a gesture, and snatched up his sword on the way out. It was regrettable that he had been forced to bare his torso so that the medic could work on the chest wound, but duty would not wait for him to be perfectly presentable.

Ulquiorra fell into step just beside him, quietly baffled by the way that a number of low ranked members of the healing division felt the need to blush violently as a shirtless Byakuya Kuchiki walked past them.

888

Stark sighed in resignation and climbed to his feet, carefully setting the sake bottle down beside him. He shared a look with Kyoraku, and then the two of them began making their way cautiously towards the source of the rather violent energy that had disrupted their relaxation.

888

Uryu Ishida opened his eyes again, something which he had not expected to be possible. Waves of heat battered him from all directions, causing beads of sweat to break out on his forehead and his lips to grow dry, but considering the veritable river of flames he'd last seen heading towards him he had been expecting to be burned to a crisp within a few seconds. Instead, the torrent had parted a few feet in front of him, splitting around some unseen interruption to pass harmlessly to either side.

The roaring of the flames quietened to a hiss and then faded altogether, allowing him to lay eyes on Captain-Commander Yamamoto once more. The Soul Reaper's face was impassive, but there was the slightest flicker of uncertainty in the depths of his eyes. It was easy to divine the cause – between Ishida and the Commander hung a triangular glowing shield of pale orange energy. Uryu recognised it half a moment before its creator stepped past him.

He'd grown used to viewing Orihime Inoue as a non-combatant, an innocent maiden who needed protection from the warriors like Kurosaki and himself. She'd saved all of their lives during the Winter War, healing their injuries and even bringing them back from beyond the gates of death itself, but she wasn't a fighter. There was no trace of that soft innocence in the woman who stood beside him now – Orihime's steel grey eyes were hard and resolute, and stance was confident without a trace of fear. Without the slightest hesitation, she had deflected an attack from perhaps the strongest individual in three worlds and stood ready to do the same again.

"Inoue… what are you doing?" he said in a disbelieving whisper.

She glanced over at him and allowed the slightest smile to twist at her lips. "Ishida-kun. Do you remember the promise I made, after the War? That I would get stronger, so I could help my friends like they'd helped me. I keep my promises." She turned and looked at the Captain-Commander, the smile still present. "I'm not the only one who keeps them, either."

No… she wasn't looking at Yamamoto. She was looking at someone else, someone standing behind him. The Captain-Commander realised this at the same moment as Uryu, and spun around, sword rising into a guard position. Just in time for Sado to slam his left arm, sheathed in its bone white armour, directly into the old man's face.


	20. Chapter 19 Deliberations

**A/N – So, sorry for the fairly lengthily delay, folks. I ran headfirst into some rather unpleasant real life related troubles, which have completely distracted me from damn near anything else. Still have no idea how to handle them, but for the moment, I've finally managed to catch my muse again. This chapter is rather short, I admit, but hopefully I'll have another one up in the next couple of days.**

**888**

It had been a very long time since Captain-Commander Yamamoto had given serious thought to the matter of mercy. It was not in his nature to show tolerance to an enemy, especially those guilty of crimes against the Soul Society, and normally he would have simply unleashed _Ryujin Jakka _once more and utterly obliterated the two humans who dared to stand against him. The law was strict and unforgiving when it came to crimes of this nature, and there was precious little room for doubt in its tenets – shielding a criminal from their just punishment was a crime. Defying the judgement of the Captain-Commander of the thirteen Court Guard squads was a serious offence. And raising weapons against him was punishable only by death. All three of the people standing before him, in the still-smouldering ruins of the Twelfth Division courtyard, were guilty of capital crimes.

And yet… despite it all, they were still alive. For the first time in a very long while, Captain-Commander Yamamoto was doing his absolute best to think of a way in which he could allow serious criminals to escape the judgement of the law. It was not an activity that he had any practice in, which would likely explain why no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think of an answer. He'd already totalled up the number of Twelfth division members scattered around the courtyard, even raising his estimation to account for those who had doubtless fled the moment they realised what was happening, and still come up with a number well short of the requisite two hundred. Even if he could ignore the faint but distinct traces of Hollow reiatsu lingering around the site – which was easily doable, given what he knew Mayuri Kurotsuchi had likely been up to in here – there was no way to dress this up as anything approaching a formal challenge.

The girl, at least, he felt he could likely spare. She had not made any hostile moves against him, merely defended her ally from an attack, and based on all previous evidence of her nature the move had likely been made from pure instinct. So long as she made no moves that were obviously in deliberate, rational defiance of his judgement, her actions could be interpreted as purely commendable in nature. Unfortunately, given the confidence that practically radiated from where she stood on the far side of the square, he knew that she was perfectly willing to counter the next hostile move he made. More importantly, and in fact absolutely astonishing given his previous estimate of her abilities, she might actually be capable of doing so.

That was one of the reasons he had not obliterated them all in a raging inferno by this point. All three of the humans had displayed extraordinary levels of power in the rapidly developing situation. The Quincy had not only managed to slay Captain Kurotsuchi, a task many had deemed nigh-impossible, he had apparently done so without taking so much as a scratch. The girl – Inoue, he remembered – had managed to deflect a direct attack from _Ryujin Jakka, _something which only captain level shinigami had been seen to do in the past. The third one, meanwhile, had not only moved past enough to slip through his awareness, but had actually landed a blow of sufficient force to draw blood. It wasn't a serious wound, not by any means, but it had certainly hurt.

Put simply, he wanted that power. The Thirteen Court Guard squads were still under strength in the wake of the Winter War, and the addition of three powerful figures to their ranks would do a great deal to resolve that problem. When exactly he acquired them was not especially relevant – he could wait the sixty or so years until they died naturally, if necessary. Their lack of personal loyalty to him and the Soul Reapers as a whole was likewise less than a problem, for he would have centuries to change their currently young and naïve perceptions of the world. Immortality brought its own brand of patience with it.

At least none of them were attacking, as yet. In the wake of that first blow, they had pulled back to the far side of the courtyard, standing side by side in a loose group and watching him with careful eyes. They seemed to be waiting for his reaction, for which he was profoundly grateful. There might still be a wait out of this.

There was a light cough from behind him, followed by the soft padding noise of sandaled feet on stone. Lieutenant Sasakibe moved up to the side of his commander with a duellist's poise, one gloved hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword. The silver haired gentleman analysed the situation with a couple of quick glances, before turning to Yamamoto.

"The others will be arriving soon. Would you like some privacy?"

Yamamoto nodded once, grateful once more that he had been fortunate enough to acquire such an efficient man as his second in command. This situation was balancing on a knife's edge already, and the arrival of any of the dozens of powerful energy signatures he could feel incoming would only serve to make it even more unstable. Most concerning of all, he could feel Kurosaki's energy signature rapidly contracting and vanishing from his awareness. It seemed that the late Kurotsuchi had been correct in his analysis on the boy's abilities.

With a moment's thought, he dismissed the incoming people from his mind and focused on the three humans standing before him. He needed a way out of this.

888

Chojiro Sasakibe was, by and large, a forgettable man. He had dedicated not a small amount of personal effort to making sure that was so, and for the most part he had been totally successful. Few in the thirteen squads could identify him on sight, or even by name, and of those who could only half a dozen or so knew anything about him beyond "Lieutenant of the First Division". As far as anybody was concerned, he had always been there, standing just behind his commander in a quietly unassuming fashion, ready to take care of any minor problems that arose in the First Division with such discrete efficiency that few ever realised there had been a problem in the first place. Indeed, Captain Soifon had once proven her right to hold the position of Stealth Force commander by forming a dossier on his activities that was barely five pages long, easily the most detailed set of facts that anybody had ever managed to compile in the history of the Soul Society.

One of those facts was that, despite his appearances, Sasakibe possessed a level of power and skill that easily qualified him for a Captain's position should he ever desire to claim it, and indeed had held that potential for over three hundred years. That he had never donned the white haori was simply a matter of personal preference on his part – he simply did not see himself as a leader, nor did he wish to be parted from the side of his commander.

Unfortunately, it appeared that his carefully cultivated anonymity was about to be utterly ruined. His commander needed time to resolve the developing situation in private, and that meant that Sasakibe had to find a way of preventing well over a dozen extraordinarily powerful individuals from passing into the grounds of the division behind him. That demanded that he exhibit a level of power that quite simply could not be ignored. A shame, really, but Captain-Commander Yamamoto commanded it, and so Lieutenant Sasakibe would comply.

He stood calmly in the road leading up to the division gates; eyes closed in contemplation, and drew Gonryomaru. Then, as the first of the incoming reinforcements flickered out of their flash steps ahead of him, he opened eyes the colour of molten gold and spoke a single word.

"_Bankai."_


	21. Chapter 20 Justifications

**A/N – Well, I was initially a little unsure about inventing Sasakibe's powers for myself… until I caught up on the manga. Sufficed to say, I don't have to worry about that too much any more…**

**As a side note, I've also started writing a second story, titled Reflections, which is where I'm putting all those short character-centric pieces that I couldn't easily fit into the main plotline of this story. Also, apologies for the short chapter here… experimenting with short pieces has apparently rendered me near useless at writing anything of a decent length. Which is annoying.**

**888**

One of the problems inherent in the nature of Bankai, which the Soul Reapers had struggled with since the earliest days of their formation into a unified military, was the fact that such levels of power were always, without exception, dangerous. Not merely to the enemy that was unlucky enough to warrant the usage of such force, but also to anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby when it was unleashed, ally and enemy alike. Soul Reapers who attained the level of power demanded of a captain had been known to quite literally kill people with a glance, the sheer weight of their spiritual pressure crushing the life out of those who got in their way.

Generally, this unfortunate consequence of their inherent natures could be limited and controlled with an effort of will, though some individuals required the assistance of power-limiting artefacts to supplement their own resolve. Bankai, however, could never be restrained in such a fashion. By its own nature, it involved the full and unfettered release of the Shinigami's power, which was quite often lethal in its own right, above and beyond the actual techniques involved in the release. An unranked Soul Reaper simply could not survive exposure to such power levels for anywhere near a prolonged length of time. Only in the rarest cases was this trend avoided.

Ichigo Kurosaki was by the far the most famous example of such an exception, binding the full might of his power inside his own body rather than letting it burn the air around him as it once had. Chojiro Sasakibe, unknown to virtually anyone save his Captain, was another. Unlike the newly promoted Captain of squad five, however, did not involve keeping his power inside his own body. Instead, Gonryōmaru fused its master's power signature with that of the surrounding area.

In most battles, the quiet lieutenant used this ability to negate the reiatsu-based attacks of his Hollow opponents, twisting and turning them back on their owners. On those scarce occasions when Captain-Commander Yamamoto had needed to unleash his power in the vicinity of innocent souls, the solemn spirit of Chojiro's sword stood ready to redirect the raging inferno away from their allies, focusing it towards the enemy with a precision that his commander normally could not muster.

Soul Society, however, was not just saturated with spirit particles. It was quite literally composed of them, and in such an environment Sasakibe's power grew exponentially. He did not merely shape and control the surrounding environment. For all intents and purposes, he _became _the environment, and the environment became him, all directed by his will.

So it was that the incoming Captains and other concerned investigators arrived at the scene of the commotion just in time to see the First Lieutenant stretch forth his hand and remake the very fabric of reality around them. Space stretched and warped, scattering rainbow patterns of diffracted light across the surrounding buildings, before quite suddenly moving itself elsewhere. The Twelfth Division in its entirety folded itself up and vanished, the roads on either side pulling themselves inwards to meet up in its place.

Chojiro Sasakibe sheathed his sword once more and, all but oblivious to the incredulous stares of the gathering Captains, made a polite bow.

"The Captain-Commander has asked not to be disturbed."

888

"Now we may talk freely" Yamamoto said in his gravely voice, apparently unconcerned by the fact that the world beyond the edges of the courtyard they stood in had been swallowed up by a constantly shifting wall of black and purple energy.

"What just happened?" Ishida asked in a slightly strained voice, his composure cracking in the face of such an unexpected shift in the nature of reality as he understood it.

"Sasakibe has projected us part way into the precipice world." The Captain-Commander said calmly, as though this was an everyday occurrence. "Your actions today will have considerable ramifications, and I need to decide on how to deal with them. That would be a great deal more difficult with witnesses present."

Orihime and Chad both tensed slightly at that last part, their postures shifting fractionally into battle ready stances. Ishida stepped forwards urgently, allowing the shimmering bow in his hands to dissipate into nothingness as he addressed the old man in front of him. "At least allow them to leave first." He said in a voice that verged on the edge of outright pleading. "They didn't know what I was going to do… no one else did."

"Except for Kurosaki's hollow side, you mean." Yamamoto stated bluntly, and then sighed at the look of shocked guilt that flickered over the Quincy's face. "Did you think the traces of such spirit energy would escape my notice? Do not compound your problems by lying to me."

Chad frowned at that, though the dark hair that hung over most of his face hide the majority of his expression. "If you know about that, then why have you not attacked?"

"I have no wish to slaughter children." Yamamoto snapped, before visibly composing himself once more. "Unfortunately, Central 46 has yet to be fully reconstituted, and that means I am the one who has to pass judgement on you for your crimes. And in the entire history of the Soul Society, murdering a Captain has always resulted in a death penalty. Sparing you will defy millennia of precedent."

"Ishida-san is not a murderer…" Orihime began, only to be cut off abruptly by the Quincy shooting her a calm look.

"Actually, Orihime, I am." He said, resignation written all over his features. "And I think I would do it again, even knowing the cost. I regret only that he didn't suffer half as much as my grandfather." The Quincy turned back to the Captain-Commander, cold conviction burning in his eyes. "I have no regrets for doing what the Soul Society would not."

Yamamoto paused and opened one eye just a fraction, feeling the first faint stirrings of hope as he considered the words of the young man in front of him. "You mentioned your Grandfather. Explain."


	22. Chapter 21 Justifications continued

**A/N – In apology for the short length of the last chapter, here's a considerably longer one with what is, by my standards, a fairly rapid update time. In all honesty, this should have been part of the last chapter, but ah well.**

**Also, it turns out that the manga and I agree on the fact that Sasakibe has Bankai and could have been a Captain if he wanted to. I am a little freaked out by the coincidence. Ah well, on with the story.**

**888**

Ichigo Kurosaki was not usually regarded as being a patient person. He liked to charge headfirst into things, to take the initiative and act the moment he felt it was required, often without forming anything more than the most basic of plans in his mind. This trait was almost universally magnified when he had reason to believe his friends and family were in danger. Therefore, it was almost unbelievably strange to witness him sitting calmly on the ground outside what had been the Twelfth Division, waiting patiently to find out the results of the ongoing confrontation.

He wasn't completely relaxed, however. Though his face was all but expressionless, it was in no way relaxed, and there was the promise of truly horrific destruction lurking behind his eyes as he stared levelly at Lieutenant Sasakibe. And despite remaining seated and generally motionless, there was no disguising the fact that he was entirely ready to leap to his feet and attack in the blink of an eye if necessary – an impression only strengthened by the obsidian blade of _Tensa Zangetsu _that rested on the ground beside him, connected to its wielder by the long chain on its hilt.

He hadn't said a word since the Lieutenant had made his proclamation. In truth, he didn't trust himself to speak right now – Ichigo was well aware of the knife's edge the whole situation rested so precariously upon. He simply couldn't risk getting into an argument here, not when the potential for such catastrophic escalation hung over the entire scene like a silent threat. As it was, it was taking every shred of his willpower to resist the urge to cut down the elderly gentleman blocking his path and intervene violently in the developing situation that the Lieutenant was shielding from their view. Only two things were stopping him from doing so.

Firstly, he was a Captain now, and the white haori had never felt quite so uncomfortable around his shoulders. It wasn't so much an issue of his rank demanding obedience to Yamamoto's orders – Ichigo had never been good at bowing to authority figures, regardless of how important or mighty they thought themselves – but he couldn't deny that he had responsibilities now. If he attacked, the Espada would follow him, maybe even a few of the other Captains. The destruction that such a confrontation would undoubtedly unleash could only be utterly ruinous to the entire Soul Society, regardless of which side won in the end. It was not a decision that one made impulsively.

Secondly, Byakuya had asked him not to. Not directly, and not in so many words, but the implications had been there all the same. The cold nobleman had made it a requirement of their informal alliance – he would represent Kurosaki's interests when it came to the nobility, and support him in matters related to the Soul Reapers, but in return Ichigo had agreed to at least try to work through the system, rather than simply trampling all over it in pursuit of his own goals. Up until now it had been a simple enough agreement, and one that Ichigo had never regretted making, but the stakes had never been quite so high before. All the same, he didn't want to break that promise if he could help it. So he would wait, patiently, and give Old Man Yamamoto a chance to work out the problems by himself, without intervention. He owed Kuchiki that much.

Even so… a chance was all he was willing to give. If the Bankai was released and it turned out that Yamamoto had, in fact, harmed his friends, then he would die. Rank and agreement be damned, consequences be damned, Ichigo would shove _Tensa Zangetsu _through the old bastard's heart without a second's hesitation. If anyone got in his way, they would die too.

Until then, though, he would wait. Seated in the street, Bankai at the ready, watching Chojiro Sasakibe with eyes full of cold threat, he would wait.

888

Orihime Inoue was quite sure that she had never been quite so utterly terrified in her entire life. She was no stranger to the threat of death, of course – one did not fight in the Winter War without experiencing a considerable degree of mortal peril, and to her knowledge she was the only one of Aizen's prisoners that had ever managed to survive her incarceration and subsequent rescue. So it wasn't the immediate danger that the present situation posed that so worried her, it was the potential consequences that rested on its outcome.

To be honest, she didn't really mind the idea of dying all that much. Oh, she'd rather survive and go home again, that went without saying, but the idea of her own death didn't really bother her quite so much as it once had. Ichigo was dead, after all, and it didn't seem to have bothered him all that much, so why should it bother her? OK, it would probably hurt quite a bit, being burned to death in an inferno or cut apart by a sword or blown up by magic or…

OK, maybe she wasn't quite as sanguine about the idea of her own death as she thought she was. That might go some way towards explaining her fear, and really, it was only natural, wasn't it? In any case, death or not, what really concerned her was what might actually come about as a result of her death here. Ichigo and Ulquiorra would be very, very angry… though she still wasn't quite sure _why _Ulquiorra would be angry, only that he definitely would. She'd have to speak with him about that afterwards, assuming that there was an afterwards and really why wouldn't there be, after all she just had to maintain a positive mindset and everything would…

With an effort of will, Orihime stopped her rambling thoughts and focused back on the situation at hand. She couldn't afford to be distracted, not now, not when Uryu and Chad might be depending on her at a moment's notice to defend them from the angry old man standing across the square from them. Not that either of them would say it, of course. Indeed, she was quite sure that both of them would rather that she wasn't here at all, that she wasn't risking herself for their sakes. It was kind of sweet, really, but she'd long ago come to the realisation that she simply couldn't stand by and do nothing when it was within her power to help.

And that was the most incredible thing about this entire situation, really, except perhaps for the way in which the other old guy had somehow shifted the entire area into another dimension with his sword. It _was _within her power to help. She did have the strength to save her friends, even from a threat like this. She hadn't believed that it was possible, really, but when she'd seen the Captain-Commander unleash his river of fire on Uryu she simply hadn't had time to worry about things like that. She'd simply summoned her power and to her very great surprise to had _worked_. She'd deflected the river and saved Uryu and even managed to make a dramatic entrance a few moments later, something she'd always wanted to be able to do but had never quite been able to pull off. Her powers were mainly defensive after all – with the exception of Tsubaki, of course, she mentally added before he could get irritated – and really it was much harder to make a dramatic entrance in order to save someone than it was to simply appear and punch them or something. Not that Chad hadn't been dramatic as well, because he had, she couldn't deny that, but she'd been first and therefore the most impressive and…

She cut off her rambling thoughts again. Uryu was explaining why he'd done what he had to the Commander, explaining the hideous things that the Clown-Captain had done to his grandfather and how the Soul Society had either done nothing or outright allowed it, and she didn't want to miss it. Though given the level of detail he was going in to, it might not have been a bad thing if she hadn't been paying enough attention to actually remember the specifics later. It was clearly quite hard on him as well – Uryu didn't usually get emotional, she knew that much, but there was no disguising the horror and anger just bubbling away below the surface of his words. She almost wanted to go and give him a hug, but she was fairly sure she couldn't defend anyone if she was distracted giving hugs and that just wouldn't be right. Everyone always said you had to keep your priorities straight, after all.

So she stood her ground and remained silent, so as not to distract either of them, and kept the Shun Shun Rikka orbiting around her in a constant ready pattern, just in case. She just hoped she didn't have to use them…

888

Chad would not break his promise. It was as simple as that. He knew that he was far from the first person to say something like that, but such things didn't matter to him. Other people might make it a declaration, or a claim, or even a boast, but not Chad. For him, it was a simple fact, and as far as he was concerned that was how such things should always be.

He hadn't made this particular promise to anyone else, or sworn it in the eyes of some personal ideal or in the eyes of a higher power, but those things didn't matter either. The people benefiting from his resolve didn't know he was doing it because of a promise either, though they might perhaps have guessed. All that mattered to him was that he had made a promise, and that he was going to keep it.

He'd invaded the Soul Society along with Ichigo in the first place because of a promise. He would only fight in the service of another, never for himself. Initially it had just been the bond between himself and Ichigo, but over the following years he had extended it to apply to the other members of their little group as well. Ishida was in trouble, and Orihime had gone to his defence, and so Chad had gone as well. He had trained relentlessly all the way through the War, and indeed afterwards as well, so that when his friends were in need he could be there to help them once more.

He was not, at heart, a violent person, at least not anymore. But unfortunately, the world they lived in was one that often demanded violence in order to guarantee the survival of him and his friends. He wished it did not, but wishing alone could not change the world. Only action could do that, only the pursuit of a goal. All that remained, then, was to chose the right goal.

Standing here, in defence of his friends, Chad felt confident he had made the right choice. He might well die for making that choice, because he doubted that striking the Captain-Commander was something easily forgiven. There might be war as a result of that choice, as the cycle of revenge turned onwards and each side retaliated against the crimes of the other. They might, in the end, accomplish nothing of any real worth, rendered the choice utterly meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Even so, he felt sure he had made the right one.

Chad kept his promises. There was nothing else to it.

888

Since coming to the Soul Society alongside Kurosaki, Ulquiorra had been faced with a bewildering number of entirely new situations, circumstances that he had never before encountered in his centuries-long existence. He had defended his lord and been proven wrong to do so. He had interacted peacefully with Soul Reapers and been commended for it. He had even formed a mutual understanding with the Captain known as Kuchiki, though he was reasonably sure it was far from anything that the humans would define as a 'friendship'.

And now he was experiencing rage, and a concern for the health of another. Anger was not unknown to him – it was, after all, just the inevitable result of frustration rising beyond tolerable levels, and there was certainly no doubt that he had more than enough sources of irritation in his existence to justify such a thing. Pure rage, however, was a new one. The desire to rend and tear, to rip a living creature limb from limb and smash buildings asunder just to satisfy the strange burning need where his heart should have been… that was most definitely new. He kept his face expressionless, as it always was, and he was reasonably sure that there was no hint as to his emotional state reflected in his spiritual pressure. Though given the way Grimmjow kept looking at him with that delighted smirk on his face, he wasn't too convinced of the last part. Perhaps the Sexta's own attitude allowed him to more easily recognise its trace in others, or perhaps everyone else was merely being polite in not noting it… either way, it was irrelevant. Rage, he could deal with.

Concern, however, was so totally unexpected it felt almost alien. The woman, Inoue, was within the area of spatial distortion created by the Soul Reaper Lieutenant, and if his own reiatsu senses were accurate she was trapped in there with their commander. She was, in short, in danger, and Ulquiorra found that he genuinely cared. He felt invested in the outcome of the confrontation, interested in her wellbeing beyond that he normally felt for one of his master's followers, and that was just utterly confusing. He knew there were at least two more of Kurosaki's subordinates/friends in there as well, but for them he felt absolutely nothing. Only the woman mattered.

He knew what Grimmjow would say if he knew of his concern, but that was irrelevant. The Sexta might be a creature of animal passions and instincts, but Ulquiorra had left such things behind long ago, if indeed he had ever possessed them at all. He did not feel lust or love or even affection. He didn't even really understand what those words truly meant, save in the most detached and intellectual of terms. He had known other individuals for longer that Inoue, even known other females for longer – Harribel being the first example that came to mind – and he felt nothing for them either. So why, then, did he feel concern over the way her fate currently hung in the balance?

Ulquiorra stood at the side of the street, expression unreadable, and tried to decide if he felt annoyed or fascinated by his own confusion.

888

"You think there's going to be a fight?"

Kenpachi looked up in surprise at the voice, having been far too focused on the developing confrontation to notice the arrival of the blue-haired hollow that now perched atop the building next to him. The hollow… Grimmjow, that was his name… wasn't looking at him, instead staring at the scene in front of them with a gaze that almost looked hungry.

"I don't know." The captain grunted, turning his own attention back to the showdown. He could practically taste the building tension in the air, even though no one was moving so much as a muscle or even saying a word. The sword at his side, the nameless avatar of destruction, was vibrating ever so softly under his touch, and Kenpachi couldn't help but grin. "If there is, though, it'll be one hell of a battle."

Grimmjow grinned and drew his sword, ignoring the dozen or so cautious looks that turned his way at the sound of the metal sliding out of its scabbard. With casual ease he dropped back down into a seated position and ran one scarred hand up and down its razor edge, apparently oblivious to the way it sliced open his skin and allowed blood to run down its glittering length. He was grinning the entire time, or given the number of teeth on display it might have been better identified as a snarl, and there was something terrible glittering in the depths of his eyes.

Kenpachi couldn't help but shiver slightly in pleasure as he felt the waves of murderous spirit energy wash over him like a wave. The sword at his side began to keen, even so faintly, and the desire to simply tear it from the sheath and unleash it was almost unbearable. Even so, he restrained himself – it had been too long since he'd felt quite so good, and he wanted to savour the experience. One way or another, he was going to get a proper fight out of today, even if the whole thing blew over without degenerating into a war and everyone was sent home. He was sure the Espada would oblige him in that regard and he hadn't had a chance to properly test out his newly discovered strength in battle. Oh yes, today was going to be a good day. All that remained to determine was _who _exactly it was he was going to be fighting.

Luckily, it did not appear he would have to wait for long, as Sasakibe turned on one foot and dispelled his Bankai at some unseen signal, allowing the entire Division hidden within to reappear in the middle of the street.

888

**A/N – I know, I have a hideous dependency on cliffhangers. In this case, though, it's because one way or another, the next chapter IS going to involve a proper fight scene, maybe two, and I want to devote an entire chapter to them. So, see you next time. **


	23. Chapter 22 The madness of Zaraki

**A/N – OK, so I sort-of-lied. This chapter isn't entirely dedicated to battles. There is talking as well. Though, it IS a Bleach story, so that is perhaps expected. Also, while I remember, a belated shout-out to "Mist Shadow", who I believe has reviewed just about every chapter of this story in one sitting. Just figured it deserved recognition. Anyway, on with the story.**

**888**

It was a profoundly strange experience, watching as the entire Research and Development institute emerged back into reality. It wasn't instantaneous, like the flick of a switch, but nor did it gradually fade back in by degrees. If anything, it could be likened to watching a piece of paper unfold into a full pattern, as though Sasakibe had just made origami out of the universe. Buildings slid out from where they had apparently been hiding behind thin air, the courtyard rolled back across the ground like a carpet, and the streets on either side casually pulled themselves apart again to make room once more.

Finally, Yamamoto himself rose back into view as though carried on a makeshift elevator made out of cobblestones that simply slotted themselves back into position with their neighbours. A few seconds later, Uryu, Orihime and Chad emerged in sequence, all visibly unharmed, and Ichigo finally allowed himself to relax fractionally.

Near the rear of the assembled Captains, who had subconsciously grouped themselves away from the waiting Espada, Byakuya Kuchiki frowned slightly, his eyes going past the emerging people towards something small and strangely shapeless that lay in a heap beyond them. At his side, ever sensitive to his Captain's moods, Renji took note of the distraction and saw it as well. His voice, when he'd gotten past the slightly surprised choke, was commendably low and discrete.

"Captain, is it just me, or is that…"

"Indeed." Byakuya replied his voice soft and diamond hard. "It would appear to be the corpse of Mayuri Kurotsuchi."

It was debatable whether the pile of faintly green slush could be referred to as a corpse, but Renji didn't argue the point. The heavily stained white coat partially submerged into it left no real doubt as to its identity, though what exactly the humans had done to turn the Captain into a puddle was beyond his comprehension. He glanced at the trio, hoping there might be something about their manner or equipment to give him some clue, but aside from looking slightly paler than he remembered nothing especially stood out. It was a worrying development, all the same.

Yamamoto, bereft of the staff he would normally have slammed against the ground to draw the attention of his subordinates, cleared his throat and was pleased to see that everyone immediately turned to look at him.

"For crimes of murder, torture and conduct unbecoming of a Soul Reaper Captain, Mayuri Kurotsuchi is retroactively stripped of the rank of Captain of Squad Twelve." He said in a cold voice, ignoring the way at least half the assembled Shinigami found their mouths dropping open in shock. "For the crime of being complicit in the death of an unranked Soul Reaper, Uryu Ishida is hereby exiled from the Soul Society and forbidden from returning for the rest of his mortal life."

The Captain-Commander paused for a moment, before continuing, voice falling into the steady cadence of one who has said such things many times before. "For the crime of unknowingly defending a criminal, Orihime Inoue is hereby sentenced to work under Captain Retsu Unohana until such time as it is judged that she has redeemed herself for her actions. For the crime of striking the Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13, Yasutora Sado is hereby sentenced to assist the First Division in their training drills until it is judged that he has redeemed himself for his actions. Does anyone present raise challenge against these rulings?"

Every eye present drifted towards Ichigo, who had yet to rise from his seated position. The Vizard paid them no attention, instead locking gazes with Ishida where he stood patiently behind the Captain-Commander. Whatever sentiment or question he was conveying with that silent stare was apparently easy to understand for the Quincy, who slowly made a miniscule shake of his head, never breaking the eye contact. Ichigo sighed and turned his attention back towards the waiting Soutaicho.

"No objections." He muttered, and the tension drained out of the air around them. Various individuals turned and left in sequence, discussing the verdict between themselves in muted tones. Most looked relieved to one degree or another, with the sole exceptions of Grimmjow and Kenpachi, who merely looked disappointed. The blue-haired Espada hoped down from his perch on the roof and grabbed the barbaric captain by one shoulder, slashing a garganta in the air with his free hand.

"I'm borrowing your pet psychopath." He yelled over his shoulder to the Soutaicho, before practically lifting the surprised Captain off his feet and vanishing through the tear in reality without so much as waiting for acknowledgement. The Garganta sealed itself again a moment later, cutting off the sounds of Kenpachi's surprised cursing and Yachiru's mad giggling.

Ichigo shook his head and sighed to himself, though there was the faintest of smiles on his face none the less. With a smooth movement he picked himself up and walked over to where Orihime appeared to be doing her best to crush the life out of Ishida with a hug of bone breaking strength.

"You OK with this, Ishida?" he asked softly, once Orhime had released her victim. The Quincy took a moment to regain his breath and correct the position of his glasses, knocked askew by the redhead's enthusiasm, before he replied.

"Of course I am, Kurosaki. It's not like I enjoy spending time around Shinigami anyway." He stopped, and for a brief moment looked as though he was repressing a smile. "Although I'm sure you'll come knocking on my door soon enough anyway. You never did know when you were unwelcome."

Ichigo just rolled his eyes. "Yuzu will probably make me bring you cookies or something." He returned. Ishida smiled.

"Well, I suppose even your company won't be too unbearable in that case."

The two of them looked each other in the eyes for a long moment, and then Ichigo sighed and held out a hand. "Take care of yourself, OK Ishida? I don't want to have to come save you again."

The Quincy chuckled and took the proffered hand, shaking it firmly. "Perish the thought. I'll just count the days until you come begging for my help again." He said, before turning on one heel and setting off towards where the Senkaimon lay in the distance. Ichigo watched him go, a not-quite-smile hovering on his lips. At length he found it in him to speak.

"For what it's worth, Soutaicho… thanks."

Behind him, Yamamoto shook his head in faint disapproval. "One of these days, your allies are going to do something that cannot be mitigated like this."

Unseen by either of them, atop a nearby rooftop Gin Ichimaru folded his hands into his sleeves and smiled coldly to himself.

888

The calm silence of Hueco Mundo's endless deserts was abruptly shattered by the familiar tearing noise in the air overhead. Dozens of faces turned upwards to regard the new arrivals, chalk-white masks glowing softly in the moonlight. The spiritual pressure of the incoming travellers emerged long before the individuals themselves, and at the faintest test of that rampant, overwhelming energy all but the bravest of the waiting hollows turned and fled away as fast as their warped limbs could take them.

Grimmjow emerged from the Garganta at a dead run, before stopping abruptly and hurling the burden in his arm straight down at the ground below with every iota of transferred momentum he could muster. Kenpachi struck the rolling desert like a meteor, kicking up a veritable pillar of pale sand that almost seemed to hang in the air like morning mist. The ex-Espada paid it no attention, simply throwing back his head and basking in the light of the moon, feeling the endless rippling tides of hollow reaitsu that permeated the very air in Hueco Mundo wash over him.

"Ah, it feels good to be home, Shinigami!" he laughed, revelling in the familiar feelings of the world that had been his territory for more years than he could accurately recall. _Pantera _was purring in its sheath, practically begging to be unleashed once more, and he patted its hilt fondly. "Don't know about you, but I _really _need to blow off some steam after that political, compromising bullshit. Honestly, I don't know how you can stand it every damn day of your life." He grinned down at the spreading dust cloud below him, a manic sort of anticipation glittering in his azure blue eyes. "Come on, get up! Let's get started already!"

There was a momentary pause, and then Kenpachi obliged him. The swirling dust clouds shuddered and then hurtled apart, carried on the bow wave of the violent explosion of spirit energy that seemed to form out of nowhere in their midst. Revealed in the middle of the sudden void was the Eleventh Captain, teeth bared in a mad grin and sword raised high like some kind of barbarian warlord. Sand rolled away from his feet in endless miniature waves, and to the spiritual senses it was as though he stood in the very eye of a roaring hurricane of burning yellow energy. It twisted and writhed like a living thing, coiling around his limbs and setting the ragged haori around his shoulders flapping madly even as it blasted out over the landscape for miles around.

Grimmjow chuckled to himself in appreciation. It was so hard to find anyone willing to just have a proper fight for its own sake these days. Even Kurosaki wasn't quite so willing to just indulge in a quick scrap, though the Espada had to admit he couldn't really challenge the kid and call it a 'fight' as such. The only way it would last long enough to be worthwhile would be if Kurosaki was actually holding back, and if there was anything that Grimmjow could be said to hate with a burning passion, it was people who thought they could just indulge him like that. One of these days, he'd grow strong enough to pit himself against the kid in an even fight once more, but in order to do that he needed strong opponents to practice against. Well, judging by the way the air itself was practically screaming under the force of Kenpachi's aura, he'd just about found it here.

With relish, he pulled his sword free from its sheath and placed his free hand on the naked blade, curling the fingers into a claw like grip. Down below, Kenpachi picked up on the building spiritual pressure and reached up with his free hand to tear the eye patch free from over his eye with a single, savage tear. As far as he knew his sword didn't have a specific release command, no fancy incantation that he had to recite, but that was perfectly fine. He knew what to do anyway… in a way, he had always known, just choosing to ignore the knowledge in favour of an exclusive reliance on his own brute strength.

"Grind, _Pantera_!"

"Die, Espada!"

Every hollow within a five mile radius paused, shuddered, and died.

888

Yachiru had long ago mastered the techniques required to survive being anywhere within a mile radius when her beloved Ken-chan decided to fight properly. What had taken a little longer to master, however, was finding a way to actually watch those fights without getting in his way or interrupting his fun. Generally, that meant finding somewhere to perch that provided a decent view and yet was sturdy enough to withstand the power he liked to throw around. Unfortunately, structures like that were generally in regrettably short supply in the Soul Society, requiring her to stand on the air above them instead, which was far from ideal – it was hard to watch properly when you had to keep concentrating on not falling out of the sky every time Ken-chan swung his sword around.

Thankfully, it appeared that Hueco Mundo was much better suited for this sort of thing, and it had barely taken her a few moments to locate a suitable shard of broken rock sticking out of the endless sands that could serve as a proper anchoring point. Even as Ken-chan was drawing his sword, Yachiru scurried up the rough sides of the pillar and braced herself carefully in the middle of a jagged crack that practically bisected her new seat. As fun as it was sailing through the air, she couldn't watch Ken-chan fighting while doing so, and that rather ruined the whole point of the exercise.

Having satisfied herself that she was properly secured, Yachiru turned her eager gaze back towards the fight, avid anticipation in her gaze. The harsh winds were whipping the desert sands up into a proper storm, but she barely noticed the way the stinging grains slashed at her bare skin, too absorbed in the coming confrontation to actually care about her own discomfort. And it promised to be a proper fight as well, something she barely got to see anymore – the hollow had actually been the one to start the fight, and that was something so rare she couldn't easily remember the last time it had happened. Then again, she'd heard this one had been the Sixth, and Ken-chan had already beaten the Fifth, so maybe it wouldn't be quite as much fun as she was expecting…

All thoughts of differing power levels were driven from her mind in a moment, however, when the smoke in the sky cleared and she got a good look at the Espada's released form. Yachiru's eyes went wide, gleeful sparkles practically seeming to dance around her crouched form as she took in the lithe shape high above her. With a happy yell, she threw both hands in the air.

"Ken-chan versus Kitty-chan!" she called out happily. "Fight!"

It was probably a good thing that Grimmjow was too distracted by his upcoming fight to actually hear her.

888

The Shinigami's spiritual pressure had changed, Grimmjow noted in some distant corner of his mind. It was still as fierce and savage as ever, still strong enough to bathe the sands around them in harsh yellow light, but the actual structure of his aura had altered itself on a fundamental level. It wasn't a hurricane anymore, forcing everyone around it to stagger and step back in the face of its burning winds. If he had to describe it, he'd have said it was a whirlpool, tugging at his limbs and drawing him in towards its source, filling his mind with a burning desire to rend and tear and _kill_.

With a gleeful snarl, Grimmjow gave into the impulse and practically fell out of the heavens, gathering his own spiritual energy tight around him to form a burning azure meteor that hurtled down towards the waiting Captain. Laughing madly, Kenpachi swung his sword – now gleaming and cruelly serrated – up to meet him. Claws met blade with a crash that could be heard for miles, and the force of the impact gouged out a crater ten foot deep underneath the colliding fighters. Just as weapons clashed together, so too did the spiritual auras that blazed around each warrior like miniature suns, shedding sparks of energy in all directions that dug long furrows of vitrified glass in the surrounding desert.

They were practically face to face, two howling madmen staring into each others eyes as they all but wrestled for control of the sword between them. Long rivulets of scarlet blood fell from where Grimmjow's claws were wrapped around the harsh edge of the blade, but if the Espada felt any pain he didn't show it, merely grinning wider as he tightened his grip. Kenpachi returned the grin, and then ceased his efforts to push upwards against the incoming force, instead yanking his sword sideways. Grimmjow didn't let go, not even as the sword tore at his armoured flesh, instead using the leverage to swing both clawed feet around as he was hurled sideways and slash a pair of long wounds into the side of Zaraki's torso. Then they were moving apart, connected only by glittering rivulets of blood.

Grimmjow hit the ground and rolled to his feet in one swift move, still grinning wide enough to hurt his jaw. He could feel the wounds that sword had dug into the flesh of his hands, feel the lacerations it had left on his bones, but there wasn't any pain there, only an odd sort of burning heat. He could feel it seeping into his veins like a poison, and it made every fibre of his being sing and cry out with the sheer joy of raw destruction. He was a hollow, a soulless amalgamation of lost souls given human form by the whims of a madman who would have been god, but at that moment it didn't matter. Grimmjow had never felt quite so utterly, gloriously _alive._

He checked his momentum, gouging up the sand as he dug his clawed feet in and slid to a halt, and then charged again without a moment's hesitation. Kenpachi had also started to move, barrelling forwards like a freight train, sword held before him like some kind of spear. Grimmjow waited until they were scarce feet apart, then raised his maimed hand before him, ignoring the way trickles of his own blood splattered across his face like rain.

"Grand Ray Cero!"

888

Yachiru winced as the azure blue light slammed into Ken-chan, the impact sending out shockwaves that nearly knocked her from her perch. She'd seen many powerful fighters pit themselves against her adopted father in battles before now, but this had to be the first time that she had seen one that actually matched him in what was undeniably raw, uncontrollable savagery. It was almost as though the two of them had gone mad, slashing at each other without care for the way their blood practically hung in the air from numerous horrific wounds.

Her eyes narrowed as another possibility came to her. Maybe it wasn't the two fighters who had gone mad, or at least not entirely. She could feel the waves of energy coming from Ken-chan's sword; feel the burning joy that seemed to flood her veins every time she caught sight of its blood-splattered edge. It called to her, urging her to jump down from her perch and join in the slaughter, to draw her sword and kill until the world drowned in the tide of blood…

Her own power rose up in her chest, hissing angrily as it repelled the intrusion, the air around her glowing with faintly pink light as she fought past the influence of Ken-chan's sword. The young lieutenant shook her head, clearing the last vestiges of the fog from it, and patted her sword's hilt in appreciation. Then she turned her attention back to the slaughter, biting her lip in concern as she tried to work out what to do. This wasn't even a fight…

888

Kenpachi bit him, leaning past their interlocked hands and sinking his fang-like teeth into the meat of Grimmjow's shoulder. The espada howled as he felt his iron-hard skin crack and splinter under the pressure, before reaching up and clamping one hand on the back of the Captain's head, holding it in place with remorseless force. It might have been mistaken for the passionate embrace of a lover, were it not for the way that he used the temporary pin to rake clawed hands and feet up and down his opponent's body, gouging bloody furrows in Kenpachi's bared flesh. The sword, now held between their bodies, sawed back and forth through Grimmjow's chest at the same time, and their intermingled blood stained the sand underfoot a dark red.

With an animalistic growl, Kenpachi tore away, a sizeable chunk of his foe's shoulder still locked in between his fangs. Grimmjow toppled backwards, collapsing back onto the sand as the raw pain of the wound pushed past the red fog that filled his mind. He coughed wetly, his half-severed ribs creaking under the strain as his enhanced metabolism sought to overcome the horrific levels of damage that Zaraki's sword had inflicted on him. Experience told him it would barely take more than ten seconds for the worst of his wounds to heal. It also told him that he didn't have nearly that long.

There wasn't any trace of sentience in Kenpachi's eyes as he spat the torn flesh out and raised his sword once more. His eyes practically glowed with golden energy, drowning any capacity for rational thought under a tide of pure, savage bloodlust. It sang through his entire body, keeping him on his feet despite the hideous wounds that Grimmjow's slashing claws had dealt him, despite the way his blood poured down his body like a crimson river. The sword in his hands quivered and shrieked as it rose high into the air, and the noise coming from Kenpachi's open mouth was somewhere between a laugh and a scream.

"KEN-CHAN, NO!"

Yachiru hurtled through the air like a glowing pink meteor, wrapping herself around his upraised limb with holding it steady with a surprising degree of strength. She seized his chin with one hand and turned his face towards her, looking deep into his eyes as she babbled rapidly, desperate to get through to him. "This isn't you, Ken-chan! You don't kill people too weak to fight back, you don't let anyone control you… please remember, Ken-chan!"

With a snarl, the beast that was Kenpachi Zaraki turned on the spot and hurled the pink-haired girl through the air. Yachiru crashed straight through the first sand dune in her path, gouging a great furrow in the next one before she finally slid to a halt, battered and bloody from the sheer force of the impact. Shaking her head, she coughed softly and looked up with tear-filled eyes at the barbaric demon that stalked towards her across the sand, burning sword clenched in one blood-stained fist and spiritual aura lighting the skies around him with its rage.

"Ken-chan…" she whispered, tears forming in the corner of her eyes as she scrambled backwards in instinctive fear.

The demon stopped, suddenly, swaying back and forth on the spot as though struck. Some of the yellow fire leaked out of its gaze as it stared at her, its whole body quivering slightly under some invisible strain. Then, with a pained shriek, it turned and hurled the serrated sword in its grasp off to the side, before collapsing onto all fours.

Yachiru picked herself up slowly, wincing slightly as she did so, before approaching the quivering giant that lay before her. Slowly, she reached up and placed one hand on his shoulder, ignoring the blood that rapidly stained her pale flesh as she looked intently at the suddenly-frozen man kneeling before her.

"Ken-chan…"

Kenpachi looked up at her, all trace of joy gone from his face, and breathed a sigh of relief as he realised she was still mostly OK. His head hung forwards again, facing the ground in shame, and his harsh voice was all but broken.

"Yachiru… I'm so sorry…"

888

**A/N – Hmm. I have noticed a trend – the longest chapters in this story are ones that involve Kenpachi in some way. He may be intimidating my muse into continued writing.**

**Anyway, reviews are as always appreciated. I'm most curious to see what folks think about my portrayal of Kenpachi's sword and its effects. As an explanation, it's only **_**supposed **_**to be able to influence his enemies, making them lose control and fight with the same berserker tendencies and near-savagery that Kenpachi himself uses – incidentally rendering them incapable of using any technique that requires carefully concentration of a great deal of coherent thought. Like, for example, kido. Unfortunately, Kenpachi has spent the last however-many years neglecting/abusing his sword, and it is not best pleased at that…**

**Because hey, Aizen can't have the **_**only **_**sword that focuses on manipulating your enemies rather than outright beating them to death. **


	24. Chapter 23 Questions

**A/N – And here's the next chapter. As a side note… 300+ reviews? Dear lord that's incredible. Anyway, I'm pleased to note that most people approved of my idea for Kenpachi's sword. So, on with the story, where the ramifications of that last chapter shall start being explored… mostly in the form of Serious Yachiru.**

**888**

"This division has never needed guards to stand over its patients before."

Retsu Unohana had a very particular way of speaking when she was displeased. She never raised her voice or scowled, the soft smile never left her lips, and the tone of her voice remained gently even. And despite it all, she still managed to be one of the most terrifying creatures in the entirety of the three worlds. Soifon sometimes suspected that she might even outdo some of the lost souls trapped in Hell for sheer menace, but there had never been a chance to verify the hypothesis. All the same, the slender commander of the Stealth Force stood her ground in the face of the quiet terror that threatened to overwhelm her and didn't move from her position.

"You have never had a possibly insane Kenpachi Zaraki as a patient before, either." She responded coolly, gesturing towards the giant figure resting in the nearby bed with a quick flick of one hand. The fact that Zaraki was still in the bed, two days after returning from his excursion to Hueco Mundo, was an ever-growing source of surprise and mild shock to those who knew of it. The Captain of the Eleventh had never before consented to bed rest lasting beyond a single day, and even that had required vast quantities of sedatives to keep him down, but as far as Soifon knew he hadn't moved so much as a muscle in over forty eight hours.

"If that does become a problem," Unohana asked, still smiling even as her fingers twitched in a way that looked scarily reminiscent of a kido incantation, "Are you under the impression that I could not deal with it?"

Soifon considered her answer very, very carefully. She was extremely aware that she was standing in the heart of the Fourth Division, and that her fellow Captain could call upon the assistance of virtually her entire unit should it become necessary. More than that, Unohana was generally agreed to be second in power only to the Captain-Commander himself, though despite several attempts Soifon could never quite discover any direct evidence to back up that claim – it had just become something of an accepted fact among the Gotei 13. The Fourth and the Eleventh captains had never been known to fight each other in the past, so no one knew for certain which one would win if it did come to that, but in the end the only thing that was certain was that the collateral damage would be truly immense. Even so…

"You are a healer, Captain." Soifon eventually responded at length. "Regardless of your abilities, I believe that if the worst were to occur, and Captain Zaraki were to prove a danger to this establishment, your nature would compel you to hesitate before putting him down." Her voice went hard as stone. "Against a foe like Zaraki, even the slightest hesitation could prove fatal, for you or those under your care. That is why I am here. The Captain-Commander wanted someone present who would not hesitate to act if the situation called for it."

Now the displeasure in Unohana's voice was real and apparent, and in the hallway outside several members of the Fourth shuddered as the faintest echoes of it reached their ears. "You would not hesitate to murder an injured man in his sick bed." It wasn't a question, but Soifon answered it anyway.

"If that is what it takes."

The two Captains stared each other down for a long moment, the tension in the air practically choking, until Retsu Unohana shook her head and walked away. Soifon waited a few moments to ensure she was gone before she allowed herself to sigh in relief, and then turned her attention back to the slumbering giant in the bed. She'd be here, when he eventually woke up. What happened then would be entirely up to him.

888

"My, my, Grimm, aren't you just an absolute mess."

At the sound of the lilting, possibly gleeful voice, Grimmjow finally caved and acknowledged the other presence in his room. He opened his eyes and was pleasantly surprised to find the lights overhead weren't as painful as he remembered. With a smooth motion he sat up and found that the movement didn't ignite the expected inferno of absolute agony in his body. In fact, looking down at the parts of his body that weren't covered by the crisp white hospital bed covers, every last one of the injuries that he remembered receiving had completely vanished. With a confused frown he looked back up at the speaker.

"I look fine. What are you talking about, Gin?"

Gin Ichimaru just grinned in that unsettling way of his and sat back in the chair propped up against the far wall. He laced together his long, pale fingers into a pyramid shape and stared at the ex-Espada over the top of them, the merest hints of pale blue eyes glittering out from under the mess of silvery hair.

"Wasn't talking 'bout your body, Grimm – Orihime-chan does good work. Your spirit side, on the other hand… whew. It's positively _burning_." He chuckled to himself. "Looks like Zaraki left a mark or two on you after all. That's gotta hurt."

Despite himself, Grimmjow shivered, the words bringing back hazy memories of the fight in Hueco Mundo. The mental pictures were fuzzy, as though seen through a red haze, but he could still remember the essentials; the sound of laughter, the clash of steel… the pain of a sword burying itself in his side. Above them all, however, he could remember the burning passion that had filled his veins every time he saw that sword. It had called out to him, a silent promise of death and bloodshed that was still utterly deafening, and he had listened. Even now, the memory alone made his heart beat faster, and his spiritual pressure spike slightly. He looked back up at Gin, pearl white fangs glittering as he smiled.

"I don't think I've ever had quite so much fun." He growled, azure blue eyes dancing with excitement. "So don't worry, Gin. I'm not going to ruin your little game by running away and hiding. Soon as we're both out of here, I'm going to hunt him down and try again."

Gin blinked in surprise and placed a hand over his heart, looking tragically betrayed. "Et tu, Grimmjow? Why is it that everyone is so utterly convinced that I have some sort of elaborate plan in the works? I ain't Sosuke…"

Grimmjow held up a hand, cutting off the stream of lamentations before it could properly start. "I didn't say your plan, Gin. I said your game. The game you were playing when you found us all one by one, when you gave Kurosaki back his powers, when you had him claim Aizen's old rank the moment he came back… _that _game."

The smile had fallen from Gin's face and his playful eyes had grown diamond hard as he stared at the bed ridden Arrancar. Grimmjow stared right back, his own smile still firmly in place.

"Ya know, Grimm, I think you're quite a bit smarter than most people believe. Unfortunately, smart people such as yourself… well, they have a way of causing problems for people."

Grimmjow really, really wished he knew where _Pantera _was.

888

Byakuya Kuchiki closed his eyes and counted, very slowly, to ten. He had heard that this was a method used for controlling ones temper and maintaining the composed dignity expected of him as a Captain and head of a Great Noble House. It did also allow him to indulge, for just a few moments, in the pleasant illusion that the current situation was not, in fact, real. Unfortunately, when he opened his eyes at the end of that count, Lieutenant Kusajishi was still standing in front of his office desk, looking up at him with an uncharacteristically patient expression.

Well, if one had to count their blessings, he supposed he was at least grateful that she was being remarkably quiet for once. And she at least had the grace to stand there and patiently wait, rather than hoping up on the desk and poking him in the forehead, as she had been wont to do in the past. In fact… Byakuya frowned slightly and double checked his initial observation, because it was so utterly preposterous that it flew in the face of everything he thought he knew about the Eleventh lieutenant. But yes, a few moments study confirmed that Yachiru was, in fact, waiting politely to be recognised and addressed. She wasn't even smiling.

"Lieutenant." He said at length, having composed himself and gotten over the initial shock. "What may I help you with?"

She made a polite half-bow, throwing all of Byakuya's composure out of the window once more, and responded in a voice that was practically a whisper for her usually exuberant manner. "Captain Kuchiki. I was hoping to speak to you about controlling your zanpaktou."

Byakuya nodded slowly, realisation dawning on him. He'd heard about the situation that had developed with Zaraki in the deserts of Hueco Mundo, how he'd apparently lost control and attacked his own surrogate daughter. To be honest, he'd generally assumed the story had gotten confused somewhere in the transition from witness to his ears, because the idea the Kenpachi Zaraki would ever attack his own Lieutenant was so utterly ludicrous that it was almost indescribable. And yet, it seemed that the story was true after all… otherwise, why would Yachiru be here, asking about such things?

"Part of a Captain's duty is to assist the lower ranks in such matters." He conceded, spotting the slight glimmer of relief and appreciation in Yachiru's eyes. "Might I ask, however… why did you come to me for such advice?"

Yachiru shuffled slightly in embarrassment, and Byakuya made a mental note to ask the Fourth Division to take a look at her – such a radical change in mental state simply could not be normal or healthy. "I don't really know most of the other Captains aside from you, Byak… Captain Kuchiki."

Byakuya rose smoothly to his feet. "I see. Walk with me… and Lieutenant Kusajishi?"

Yachiru looked up at him expectantly, falling into step at his side as the Captain swept out of the office and towards the gates of his Division. "Yes, Captain Kuchiki?"

"Please stop calling me that. It is simply too… disconcerting."

"Hai, Byakushi!"


	25. Chapter 24 Hunter, Prey

**A/N - Sheesh. Every time I look at the stats for this story, I continue to be more and more amazed. 327 reviews? Over 75,000 hits? You people are all amazing, albeit a little intimidating. Still, I can hardly let this story die now, with so many of you issuing death threats over such an occurrence, so here's the next chapter. **

He was wandering in a wasteland, trying to find something to kill. That much, at least, was familiar ground to Kenpachi Zaraki – he'd long since stopped trying to count the number of times he'd stalked some nameless battlefield or other in search of a good fight – but everything else was hideously and uncomfortably new.

Firstly, the wasteland around him had quite obviously, at one point, been a city of some kind. Burned out skyscrapers and ruined streets stretched for miles in every direction, interspaced with the ruined skeletons of what had once been doubtlessly impressive buildings and the occasional decapitated statue. It wasn't that he'd never fought in an urban environment – hell, some of the best fights in his long and violent existence had taken place within close-packed walls and alleyways – but an entirely devastated city was a new one.

Secondly, everyone here was already dead. Once again, that was not an especially uncommon situation in the region surrounding Kenpachi Zaraki, who had often been compared to a walking hurricane of destruction. What was unusual, however, was that he had had absolutely nothing to do with any of it. Some of the people here had clearly been burnt to death, their charred skeletons jumbled together in rough piles on the corner of virtually every street, some had succumbed to what might have been a plague and where left to rot where they fell, and some had even been executed, their bloated corpses dangling from makeshift gibbets like rows of spoiled fruit… but not one of them had been slain by the sword. Oh, several had died in combat – if there was one thing Kenpachi Zaraki could recognise on sight, it was the marks that a violent demise left on a body – but there was no indication that _his _sword had been the one responsible for any of them.

And finally, he wasn't just looking for anything to kill. He was here, stalking through the shattered ruins of some unknown metropolis, in search of a very specific individual; His sword, to be precise, or rather the spirit that generally inhabited it. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten here, but when he'd finally collapsed on his return to the Seireitei, he'd woken up here with the sure knowledge that he would be able to find the one he sought if he just looked hard enough. That had been two days ago.

With an animal snarl, Kenpachi Zaraki threw back his head and roared to the slate grey heavens.

"WHERE ARE YOU?"

"Here."

The sword went straight through his throat.

888

Harribel was hunting. Or perhaps she was being hunted… at some point over the last hour, the distinction between predator and prey had grown somewhat more blurred than she was entirely familiar with. Whilst she had literally centuries of experience to her name in the field of hunting, the experience of actually being hunted in turn was almost entirely new to her. She was Vasto Lorde, the apex predator of the food chain, and one simply did not _hunt _someone of her power level; especially when all the evidence pointed to the second party as being no more powerful than a Lieutenant.

A little over an hour ago, she had felt a flash of hastily suppressed spiritual pressure coming from just outside the buildings of the Fifth Division, one tinged with the unmistakeable scent of murderous intent. She doubted that very many others could have possessed the skill to perceive that faint trace, especially given the turbulent spiritual environment that the Seireitei had been consumed by in recent days, but that was irrelevant. She had detected it, and more to the point its owner had evidently realised it had been detected, because the trace had been heavily suppressed almost instantly even as it began to move off at speed. And thus the hunt had begun.

There were several complicating factors, of course, which went some way towards explaining the unusual nature of this particular chase. Firstly, her prey was undoubtedly a Soul Reaper, and Harribel had considerably less experience at stalking them than the hollows which made up her usual prey. The fact that they were in the heart of the Seireitei just exasperated the problem – she was barely able to distinguish one particular aura from another in this place, and the prey evidently knew that, because it seemed to favour well-travelled streets and heavily populated areas, camouflaging its own spirit trace amid that of dozens of others.

Five times so far Harribel had almost lost track of the specific identity of her prey, forcing her into using her _pesquisa _to maintain the trace, something she loathed doing. Every Espada had their personal variants of the ability, subtle variations on a central theme. Harribel possessed one of the most precise and in-depth versions of the ability, allowing her to assess an opponent to a near-perfect degree… but it worked both ways. She knew with absolute certainty that she was stalking a Soul Reaper Lieutenant, or at least something of an equivalent power level, one whose aura reflected only a sense of cold detachment that almost hurt to touch, and that Lieutenant in turn was now equally aware of the strength of the creature pursuing them through the winding streets. Normally, making prey aware of just how utterly outmatched they were served to intimidate and scatter them, which favoured Harribel's own attitudes towards needless conflict, but this time it was different. This time, her prey had taken that knowledge without flinching and made use of it. Each subsequent use of her ability had yielded less of a trace, something that the Third Espada had never before encountered in all her years of existence.

In truth, she would have abandoned the chase by now were it not for her own personal curiosity. Feelings of murderous intent around the walls of the Fifth Division were far from unexpected or unusual, being as it was essentially a bastion of hollows and hybrid freaks in the centre of a Shinigami stronghold, and she was under orders not to seriously harm any of the Soul Reapers she encountered without evidence that her own existence was in peril – a situation that only a Captain could reasonably be expected to create. Initially, she had intended to merely scare off the potential threat, defend her new allies through intimidation and a display of force rather than outright violence. Now, however, she simply wanted to meet the Shinigami who was apparently capable of evading her for such a protracted period.

She got her chance scarce moments later, as her quarry suddenly altered direction and shifted into flash step, evidently choosing to gamble on pure speed over calculated evasion in order to escape the relentless pursuit. Harribel frowned to herself, disappointed at such a desperate and uncreative move, and then used a quick burst of _sonido _to place herself directly in her quarry's path. She expected the prey to stop, to turn and switch direction, to do any of the myriad useless things that panicked prey attempted when seeking to escape a predator. Her prey… her _opponent _did none of these things, and as the biting steel of the incoming sword sliced into her exposed stomach, Harribel realised with a sinking feeling that she had done exactly what the enemy had wanted her to do.

"I apologise." She heard a voice say, as though from extremely far away. "But Master Mayuri's instructions were very specific."

888

Kenpachi Zaraki touched one hand to his throat, and then looked down at the bloodless fingers. He'd felt the blade sink into his jugular, felt the razor sharp serrated edge grind against the spinal cord, felt the warm blood pour out of the deadly wound… and yet there was nothing. He'd heard that a sufficiently powerful creature could cause another person to feel a phantom deathblow before it was delivered, but he'd never before met anything strong enough to do that to him. Warily, he turned around, searching for the one responsible.

He remembered that during the "Zanpakuto Rebellion", as it was now being referred to, the manifested sword spirits of the other Soul Reapers had taken on humanoid form in order to do battle with their wielders, with the notable exception of the old man's. He'd often wondered why Muramasa had not attempted to come after his own sword as well – if he could free Yamamoto's sword from its master, then it clearly wasn't an issue of raw power. He'd tried asking his sword about that, but the stubborn thing had stayed resolutely silent on the matter. Now, though, looking at the thing that stood before him, he thought he understood.

The world was bleeding.

From cracks in the stone underfoot, thick black liquid bubbled to the surface like oil, forming puddles and shallow pools that gradually ran together and merged into an endless brackish sea. From the rumbling skies above, droplets of brilliant scarlet rained down in an endless hail, each evaporating on contact with the surface liquid to form great clouds of foul smelling vapour that hissed madly as it expanded. The ruined buildings all around him began to sag and collapse in slow motion, melting down in piles of slag that sank below the surface of the rapidly expanding lake with an eerie kind of grace, the mutilated bodies that hung from their frames bursting into flames as they touched the surface, flickering witch lights behind the rolling fog banks.

Scarce moments later, and he was standing on a tiny island of up thrust stone in the middle of a black lake, surrounded on all sides by drifting clouds of acrid mist. He couldn't see more than a few metres in any direction, but he doesn't allow that to concern him. He's fought without easy visibility before, and in truth the drifting clouds are far from the worst obstruction he has ever faced. As far as he was concerned, all that they are doing is allowing his target to hide from sight… and that, he would not allow.

"Where are you?" he growled again, turning his head from side to side, searching the fog all around him for some sign of his prey, a silhouette of the one he came here to kill. "Stop hiding!"

"**Kenpachi Zaraki."** The rumbling voice filled the air around him, shaking the very ground underfoot. It wanted to kill him, he can tell that immediately – to rend him apart and scatter the pieces to the far ends of the earth if it can. "**Why, after all this time, have you come here?**"

There was nothing for him to look directly at, nothing to directly threaten, so Kenpachi simply leveled the jagged piece of metal in his hands at the fog in front of him. The cloying mist almost seemed to recoil from its glittering edge. "You made me lose control. You took over." He says, and for almost the first time in his life, there wasn't the slightest trace of a smile on his face. His eyes were cold and serious, and the sword in his hands was trembling slightly from the sheer force of the grip he was exerting on the handle.

"**That isn't it."** The voice rumbled. All around him, the drifting clouds of fog began to darken, turning black as though fusing with the oily blood underfoot. And ahead of him, barely a foot beyond the tip of his outstretched sword, a shape began to form in the mist, darkening tendrils of vapour twisting together into a coherent form. **"You have never cared about such things in the past; never been concerned about the possibility of losing control and letting your instincts rule you. No, Kenpachi Zaraki, as much as you might hate the truth of the matter, I am you and you are me. It is pointless to lie to me." **The shape was humanoid, he could see that much at least. Genderless and indistinct still, its eyes little more than a pair of glowing orbs that burned like hot coals, but humanoid all the same. "**It is because I made you attack **_**her**_**. The giggling child you carry around with you, in some pathetic attempt to prove that you aren't a monster. She is the only reason you care."**

Kenpachi blinked in surprise, the sheer hatred suddenly contained in that voice stunning him for a moment. He'd come here in the belief that his sword had attacked Yachiru in order to provoke him into confrontation, going after his loved ones in order to antagonise him, but that wasn't what he heard in that voice now. That… was hatred, pure and simple. The sword must have read the confusion on his face, because it snarled in outrage.

"**You have no idea, do you? It simply hasn't occurred to you why I might wish to harm her.**" Out of the fog rose an arm, pale fleshed and slender. It came up with steady grace and rested elegant fingers on the edge of the sword blade held before it, apparently uncaring of the way the cruel metal sliced at its bare flesh. "**Do you remember, Kenpachi from Zaraki? Do you remember when you met her, all alone in that forest glade; surrounded by the bodies of those you had killed? **_**Do you remember what you did**_**?"**

Kenpachi's eyes widened in shock and understanding. Like pieces of the same puzzle, dozens of clues suddenly clicked together in his mind. His sword's refusal to tell him its name… the way it had simply insulted him over and over, seeming to grow more furious even as he tried to apologise… the fight with the returned Ichigo, when it had finally admitted to its nameless state… the air of silent, almost expectant waiting afterwards… the fight in the desert, where it had taken over and attacked Yachiru…

"I gave…" he began, but the sword was not going to wait. With a sudden gesture, the revealed arm closed tightly around the motionless blade, inert metal snapping under the relentless force with a discordant chime. Shrieking like a demon, the manifested form of Kenpachi Zaraki's sword came tearing out of the pitch black smoke all around him and lunged for his throat.

"_**You gave her a NAME!"**_


	26. Chapter 25 Resolutions

**A/N - I LIVE! And so does this story. Apologies to all my loyal readers for the delay of... Has to be two or three months by this point. Ouch. There's not really a vast amount I can say about that, really - dropping out of uni, finding a new place to live, getting a job, these all take time. And thus, time away from writing my glorious fanfiction. Still, that is being changed right now, and will hopefully stay this new,improved way for a fair bit of the foreseeable future.**

**As for Bleach as a whole... Byakuya, you be fine, damn it all. The world needs more refined gentlemen in it, not last, damn it all. On the plus side, though, Kenpachi is still as awesome as ever. Considerable portions of this chapter inspired entirely by that 'arrival' panel of the recent chapter. **

**Enough rambling. On with the story.**

**888**

His sword was an angel, and it was murdering him.

Kenpachi had just enough time to realize the inherent irony in the situation before an iron-hard wing sweep caught him in the chest and sent him flying sideways through the air. He'd heard that sword spirits often took on physical appearances most suited to the soul of the Shinigami that they served - Yumichika's sword was by all accounts every bit as vain and beauty-obsessed as he was. What did it say about him, then, that the sword spirit currently trying to tear him limb from limb took the form of a beautiful woman?

Then again, in his experience, most women didn't have a pair of gigantic glittering wings growing from their backs, let alone six of them. And he was fairly sure that even in the traditional angel mythologies, those wings were supposed to be made out of feathers or something equally soft. Not a collection of razor sharp serrated blades. That wing swipe left a pattern of ugly wounds all the way up his torso, so when he flew through the air it was on a trail of his own blood.

Of course, the angry spirit wasn't just the beautiful creature in front of him - it was the entire city that they fought in as well. A fact he was abruptly reminded of when the wall behind him grew a series of foot long spikes just before his uncontrolled flight carried him into it. Most of them shattered under his weight, but one or two remained intact long enough to drive deep into his flesh, and more blood stained the barren floor.

He'd tried fighting back, of course - there was no one in the universe that could smack Kenpachi Zaraki around without some kind of retaliation. But, as it turned out, when you are forced to spend the entirety of your existence watching through there's of another as they fight a nearly endless succession of battles, you start growing dangerously familiar with their technique. Every move he had attempted to make, every slash or thrust, she had seemingly recognized in advance and prepared for. Not by dodging or parrying - no, she was far too furious to merely be satisfied with negating an attack - but by willingly absorbing the hit and using the opportunity provided to deliver another solid blow to his own battered form.

It didn't help that she'd shattered his sword within the first few moments of the fight, in that one brief moment of utter shock when he'd finally realized what had been making her so utterly furious. Now he was reduced to fighting with little more than a broken stump, and even he had to admit that left him at a serious disadvantage. Well, step one would be changing that little imbalance of forces.

With a grunt, he rolled back to his feet, staring up at the approaching figure with eyes that could barely see through the thin film of blood running down from his forehead. The lack of visibility reduced her to little more than an ill-defined blur of pale silver, and with an annoyed snarl he wiped one hand across his eyes to clear them. When he lowered it half a second later, she was right in front of him, a pair of glittering swords slashing in to disembowel him.

Kenpachi didn't take so much as a step back, not even as the twin blades carved deep furrows in his flesh and he felt the first stirrings of his guts beginning to slip out through the ragged wounds. Instead, he reached out and grabbed the angel by both wrists, holding her immobile for a brief second. A second which he used to bring his head forwards and deliver a crushing blow to the surprisingly delicate features in front of him.

The two of them staggered apart, but now the paired swords were gripped in Kenpachi's hands, and that made all the difference. He concentrated for a moment, allowing some of his spiritual pressure to heat the glittering metal of the left hand blade, then pressing it against his gut wound in a crude cauterization. The stink of cooking flesh filled the air, mingling with the scents of a dying city, and he looked back up at the furious angel standing before him.

"You want a name, is that it?" he growled, hefting the swords once more into a fighting stance. They were a bit lighter than what he was used to, and it had been quite some time since he'd last practiced duel wielding, but he was reluctant to throw either of them away. So he stowed one in the empty sheath at his side and took the other in a two handed grip.

The angel, his Zanpahkto incarnate, glared at him with eyes that burned with hatred. The head-but had shattered her nose and left trails of blood running down her face, and yet she still somehow managed to look more beautiful than ever. Kenpachi began to wonder if his obsession with battle and the craft of death might have reached an unhealthy level, if he could find beauty in such a murderous wraith as this. Her voice was still low and rumbling, coming from the entire city around him.

"**Yes. It is all I have ever wanted, an end to the agony of anonymity. If I cannot have it through a name, I will rip you limb from limb and forget the pain in a rain of your blood."**

Kenpachi laughed, a deep and feral sound that would have been more fitting coming from a wild beast than a man. "Well too bad. I am not dying here, and I am _not _giving you a name." he returned her glare, watching as the delicate features first froze in shock, and then contorted in fury. "I didn't ask for my name. I chose it, and then I earned it. If you are too damn weak to even do that, then you aren't worthy of being my sword."

The angel shrieked in rage and threw herself forwards, tears of blood running down her face. The six glittering wings arched forwards, their razor edges glinting in the dying light and already tinged red with his blood. All around them, the city creaked and groaned, buildings collapsing to the ground in an unstoppable avalanche of broken steel and shattered concrete. Kenpachi, no longer smiling, braced himself and then, at the last moment, thrust forwards.

The stolen blade, a good three foot of tempered metal with an edge sharpened to a razor point, punched straight through silver armour and the pale flesh beneath, erupting from her back in a shower of blood. They stood there for a moment, haloed by glittering wings and held face to face by the connecting blade, before strength left battered limbs and both collapsed to the ground. As they fell, a single word floated through the battered city, echoing in all the dark and abandoned places that made up his soul.

"_Keres._"

888

He woke in a hospital bed, something that tended to occur far too frequently for his liking. Still, it was hardly unfamilar, though he had to admit the choice of attendents was not perhaps what he would consider ideal. Usually it was Unohana, standing by to restrain him with a smile and an implied threat to calm him down before his fury fell on an unsuspecting member of her division.

Finding the petite commander of the Stealth Forces crouched on his chest, half a second away from plunging the stinger of her released Zanpahkto through his eye... that was new. Very, very slowly, Kenpachi blinked and cleared his throat.

"Uh... mind not doing that?"

Soi Fon seemed to consider that for rather longer than he was entirely comfortable with, before nodding and hopping off. Her sword was already sealed and sheathed again by the time her feet touched the floor, which was just as well, as it allowed her to look... well, not innocent, but less murdrous when Captain Unohana walked through the door a moment or two later. The healer shot the assassin a slightly suspicious look, before turning her attentions back to her patient.

"Ah, Captain Zaraki, you're conscious. Good. You had us worried with such an unusually slow recovery rate."

Zaraki nodded slowly, unsurprised to discover that he'd been out of it for longer than usual. He wasn't sure how long he'd spent stalking and then fighting his sword spirit through the ruins of that old city, but it had been a damn sight longer than he usually allowed himself to be confined to a hospital, he knew that much.

"Yeah. Had... some things to work out." He said by way of explanation, and was profoundly grateful when Unohana declined to push for any further details. Soi Fon did not look so merciful, but a single glance from the healer evidently convinced her that she'd pushed her luck far enough these past few days. With a short bow, the Stealth Force commander vanished from the room, leaving Unohana to give a pointed look at Kenpachi's right hand.

He looked down, and was mildly surprised to find it closed around the hilt of his Soul Slayer. Ah. That would explain Soi Fon's reaction, then – it couldn't have been particularly reassuring for her to watch his sword leap into the hands of a supposedly comatose man. Still, with that taken care of... he raised his gaze back towards his fellow Captain.

"Where's Yachiru?"

888

**A/N – So, for those curious, the term 'Keres' refers to ancient Greek Mythology. It was the name given to a type of death spirit, reputed to eat the hearts of the dead and drag their souls to Tartarus. I needed a name, and it seemed fitting.**

**See you in the next chapter, which shall hopefully not be NEARLY as heavily delayed.**


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